


The Inquisitor's Favor

by ajackdaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Courtship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajackdaw/pseuds/ajackdaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian had seen the Inquisitor give Cole a sun hat after the spirit had joined the Inquisition, the boy’s face lighting up in joy at the unexpected gift; and one would have to be blind  not to see the steady stream of practice dummies delivered to Cassandra’s usual practice spot, or the sweats Alexander bribed the servants to send to Josephine on her busiest days.</p><p>It was an ill-hidden secret in the ranks that the Inquisitor liked to share gifts among his inner circle, but this, this was something different altogether. It was almost as if Alex was trying to court him, but that couldn’t be possible…could it?<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ACT I

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for the 2015 Dragon Age Big Bang (my first BB ever!)
> 
> I was lucky to work with trickytyrells who made an [epic soundtrack](http://8tracks.com/trickytyrells/favored) for my fic! The songs choices and the relaxed mood of some of them, well, they fit so well!
> 
> Things to know:  
> -I wrote this with a 25 yo Dorian in mind. I know that his canonical age is 30, but I only found out about that after I finished this.
> 
> -There's no exact place for this in DAI canon, but it assumes that the player has not gone to Adamant but accelerates Blackwall's reveal to pre-Adamant. (Think: early days of the Inquisition)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Trevelyan’s relationship is everything Dorian imagined it to be, but Dorian’s past experiences and expectations come between the two men and force them to hide. When faced with dragons, Mother Giselle, misunderstandings, and Dorian’s own pride and insecurities, their relationship is tested. And it fails.
> 
> This is the story of Dorian and Alexander growing not only as people but as lovers, becoming something stronger at the end of their trials.

It was the change in light that woke Dorian. The mage’s eyes fluttered open, squinting against the bright sunlight that settled over his eyes 

 _Dawn? My bed doesn’t face east…_ Dorian thought, the words drawling even in his mind. Another slow blink and the mage remembered.

He looked beside him to the left, eyes catching on a bright flash of red against pale ivory sheets. Alexander. The Inquisitor was sprawled on his stomach on the bed still deep in sleep. His left arm reached out for the mage underneath the sheets but falling inches short from Dorian’s bare skin.

Dorian let out a pleased hum at the sight, the sound catching in his dry throat, as he pushed up onto his elbows. He blinked sluggishly, awakening in inches. Dorian slid from the bed one leg at a time, careful not to waken his lover with the movement.

Dorian stood, stretched his arms high above his head and then below his tailbone, and breathed in deep. Latent eagerness stirred low in his gut as he remembered his desire to return to his alcove in the library.  He had been forced to abandon his latest written obsession the night previous and its fascinating chapter on unconventional uses of fire magic.

 _Heating the water in the air to create a dense fog that impairs movement and sight? Imagine the possibilities,_ Dorian thought.

He continued to muse on the matter as he dressed, careful to keep his movements quiet lest he wake Alex. For once, the mage was awake before the other man and Dorian took the chance to gaze at Alex who was, for once, at utter peace with himself.

Dorian perched on the far corner of the bed, the metal points of his boots catching on the overhanging silk sheet as he settled himself.

With the threat of war table meetings and reports assuaged for the night, Alex’s brow was smooth and his posture lax in slumber. The fine strands of his hair were splayed in a fan of red over the pale, ivory pillow covers. Without the aid of oil to hold his hair in place, a few strands curled against the tanned skin just above the man’s thick eyebrows. The sight made Alexander seem softer, his usually tidy appearance sleep mused and graceless.

Dorian paused to tug the thick quilt higher over the man’s bare shoulders before making for the library by way of the servants’ passages. Early as it was, he never knew who might be waiting in the main passageways to see him leaving Alex’s quarters.

Dorian had been so eager to return to his studies in fact that only the Tranquil was in the library at the early hour. The female elf was already absorbed in her reports on the other side of the room, quill scratching over parchment at a steady pace. The various mages and couriers were gone leaving the library as quiet as it could be beneath the crows’ cages.

His nook, however, was not the same as when he had left it. The tome Dorian sought was closed and placed on top of the nearest stack of books, a thick leather bookmark hopefully marking his place.He frowned at the sight. He could have sworn that he had left the book open on the seat of his chair as he had no bookmark on hand to stick between the pages.

Dorian reached out and tugged the book open, nodding in relief when it opened to his desired chapter. It was only then that he noticed the new addition to his corner.

A thick fur blanket was draped over the back of the chair, the weight of the material causing it to slip further down the red velveteen backed chair and pool over the seat cushion.

Dorian glanced around the near-vacant library, unsure how to react to the new addition.

 _Did someone come by already and leave it here to claim the spot?_  He wondered though it didn’t seem likely.

As always, his curiosity got the better of him. He reached out to the blanket, wondering if it was a decadently soft as it appeared. The soft fur tickled Dorian’s palm as he ran his fingers through the white and tan strands of the hide— _Ram,_  his mind supplied—his callouses catching on the fine material as he thought.

The mage had commandeered the corner for his use when he wasn't out on missions with the Inquisitor. Over the course of his stay in Skyhold, Dorian had added a few personal affects to the nook to further claim the area as his own. The various stacks of books and scrolls surrounding his chair were those he had personally pulled from the shelves and kept close at hand. The area had been dubbed "The Tevinter's Hoard" by the scholars and mages who roamed the library. Dorian suspected the name didn’t come from the accumulation of texts, but from his reaction when a scholar had took a book without consulting with the mage first. ‘Draconic’ was the word of choice more often than not.

 _Really it was only the one time_ , Dorian rationalized,  _and_   _the book was better used in my studies than that fop’s attempts at conjuration._

Dorian gave a firm tug on the soft strands to ground his wandering thoughts back on the matter at hand.

He was early enough that it seemed unlikely that another had come by that morning so that left last night. A frown pulled at the corners of his lips as he recalled the previous evening.

He had been reading after dinner (as he often did) and would have kept on reading never mind that it was nearing the first bell if Alex hadn’t intervened. The Inquisitor had entered the library with a soft smile and tired eyes, and he had reminded Dorian of the hour and the necessity of sleep. Dorian had waved the man’s concern aside and continued to read despite the drooping of his eyelids at the mention of sleep.

 _If I can just finish this chapter, then I’ll go to bed_ , Dorian had thought. He had been telling himself the same for the past two hours.

The Inquisitor had huffed and continued to prod Dorian into abandoning his book, “Just for the evening, Dor. It will still be here in the morning.”

“Why leave it for tomorrow when I am here now?” Dorian had quipped back.

“Because you have not left that chair for ages,” Alex had explained patiently. “And I would like to see you in a bed before it’s truly tomorrow.”

“Posh.” Despite his words, Dorian’s mind had swayed between wakefulness and sleep as the thought of a bed—especially the Inquisitor’s bed—was a pleasant one, but not yet. The author’s proposal on the uses of fire was simply  _fascinating_. 

In the end,Dorian had clung to the chair until Alex had all but dragged him from the room by the collar, lips firmly attached to Dorian’s to stem his complaints and convince him to finish for the evening. Dorian had been far more amendable to leaving after that.

A wicked smirk crossed Dorian’s lips as he thought back to his amatus’ actions. The man’s concern had been sweet but his kisses were sweeter by far.

A soft cough drew his attention away from his memories and he spared a glance over his shoulder toward the sound. There, framed by the curved archway of the library’s staircase, was Alex. A thrill ignited low in Dorian’s gut at the unexpected sight. To see the man once in the morning was a rare treat but Dorian had seen him twice now.

 _Within the same hour too,_  Dorian thought and licked his suddenly dry lips.

“Ah, just the man I was thinking of,” Dorian said. He watched Alex draw closer, the man’s booted feet making only the faintest tapping sound as he strode across the stone floor to the mage. The gait of a rogue and not the Inquisitor. “Perhaps I have some power of thought that draws you near whenever I think of you. You would never be far if that were the case.”

He could never resist a chance to tease Alexander. Dorian took great pleasure—and pride—from the blushes that he managed to draw from the other man.

“Really, Dorian,” Alex said, shaking his head fondly, that beautiful haze of red creeping in under his startling blue eyes. “It’s not even eight bells into the day and already you tease me.”

Dorian reached out for the other man’s arm and tugged him close, emboldened by the early hour and the lack of an audience to comment on his actions.

“It’s just so easy, amatus,” Dorian said, brushing his lips over Alex’s cheek in greeting.

Alexander rolled his eyes and it was then Dorian noticed how stiffly the man held himself. The Inquisitor’s shoulders were held straighter than usual and a pinch had developed between his eyebrows.

 _He looks nervous_ , Dorian realized. It was not a look he was familiar with seeing on the other man when in Dorian’s company, and it set the mage on edge.

“What has you in such a mood? No sweetbread at breakfast?” Dorian teased but he could not hide the edge of concern from creeping into his words.

“It’s nothing,” Alex said almost reflexively and the man furrowed his brows further as if surprised he had said them at all. “I mean, hopefully nothing. It’s just—what do you think?”

The non sequitur took Dorian by surprise but he attempted to answer nonetheless. “On any matter in particular? If you’re referring to this moment than I would have to say that you are acting quite odd.”

“Forgive me. Just nervous,” Alex said in a clipped tone that had Dorian’s brow furrowing. “I meant: what do you think of your gift?”

Dorian put the pieces together. There could only be one thing the Inquisitor was referring to and his actions the previous night became clear as well. No wonder Alex had been so keen to remove Dorian from the space if he had a gift to deliver.

Dorian glanced back to the chair where the fur blanket rested and could tell even from a distance that it was made from a Hinterland’s Ram hide—one raised by a shepherd if the quality was anything to go by.

He stepped away from Alex and reached out to run his hand through the soft strands once more. It felt just as heavenly as his first touch. The fur had been brushed and cleaned until the white strands felt like silk beneath his touch. Even the coarser tan strands felt soft and Dorian marveled at the craftsmanship. He had not seen such fine pieces around Skyhold; although Josephine and Vivienne often spoke of importing such goods into the keep.

Dorian let out a pleased hum as he rolled the strands between his fingers, enjoying the high quality of the gift and the lick of warmth that erupted in his chest at the knowledge that it came from his lover.

 _To think that Alexander is giving me such a fine ware,_ Dorian thought with pleasure.

True, Alex was known to be a giving man but this was far beyond the usual candies and wooden dummies he sent Josephine and Cassandra. This was the gift one expected to be exchanged between lovers: decadent and beautiful.

“The winter winds are beginning to come. I thought you might appreciate the added warmth when you’re hidden away up here,” Alex said, reaching out to twine his fingers with Dorian’s still caught in the fur.

Dorian’s heart stuttered at the other’s admission. Trust Alex to give a gift that was not only gorgeous but practical as well.

“I can’t have you freezing up here. What would people say? The mighty Tevinter Altus felled by the weather before he even made it out of his chair,” Alex said, his quick tone giving away just how nervous he was.

 _Now that won’t do,_  Dorian thought. He brought their entwined hands up to his lips and brushed a kiss over each of Alex’s knuckles in a slow drag. It worked far better than any combination of words to sooth Alex’s fears, but Dorian tried to speak all the same.

“Thank you, truly,” he said. Heartfelt honesty not something he was used to but it was becoming increasingly more common in his interactions with Alex. “It is a wonderful gift.”

Alex positively beamed at his answer.

“I am glad, I thought…well I’m not quite sure  _what_  I thought,” Alex admitted, his thumb rubbing over Dorian’s in their entwined grasp. “But I am pleased that you like it.”

The Inquisitor dropped a quick kiss to Dorian’s lips before he nudged the other down into his chair.

“Ooh, Inquisitor, how daring,” Dorian teased. He kept his grasp on the other’s hand keeping the pair suspended between the two men. “And so early in the morning too. If I have been remiss in my nightly duties, you must tell me. I would be eager to rectify any problem.”

“You are the most audacious man,” Alex said and dropped another kiss to Dorian’s lips as if he could not help himself and wasn’t that a wonderful boast to Dorian’s ego? “But I have a council meeting soon. It would not do to have Josephine send a runner only for them to find me here kissing you rather than in attendance.”

“It would be far more fun here, don’t you think?” Dorian said, the words more jest than an actual offer. He understood how important the war table sessions were and would not keep the man from the meetings that kept the Inquisition running. Not for the sake of a few pleasurable moments, however lovely they might be.

 _More besides, what people would say about such an act_ , Dorian thought with a shudder he barely managed to suppress.

Alex only hummed in agreement, understanding Dorian’s tease.

“I have kept you from your book for far too long, and I know that you have been desperate to get back to it.” A soft grin graced Alex’s full lips and Dorian felt pleased that he had erased the man’s earlier look of anxiety. It didn’t last. The smile faltered and a hesitant quirk, pulled crooked by the scar along the man’s left tanned cheek, came to the corner of Alex’s full lips. “Will I see you for lunch?”

Even though they had shared every mid-day meal since the start of their relationship, Alex still phrased the line as a question, as if he was afraid Dorian's answer would change and the mage would suddenly decide not to show.

The thought caused a pang in the mage’s chest. It seemed Dorian was not the only one unused to being in a relationship. Even the mighty Inquisitor needed reassurance and Dorian was more than willing to provide it with a soft grin. “Of course.”

Alex nodded then turned to walk down the curved stone stairway. As he left, Dorian noted all the changes that occurred that took the man from “Alex” to “Inquisitor Trevelyan”. The man’s shoulders drew back and his spine straightened into a firm line. The thick fur collar of the winter coat Alex had taken to wearing became the mantel of a king no matter the man’s true position as leader of a supposed heretical band. Alex walked smoothly, each limb moving in a controlled and measured manner that spoke of authority but never arrogance.

Gone was the little sway that Dorian adored to see in Alex’s hips when he walked; the soft step of his boots against the stone replaced with a steady ‘thud’. The Inquisitor could not hide or subdue his presence the way Alex did.

It was aweing to see and it broke Dorian’s heart each time.

Dorian settled back into his chair, unconsciously rubbing his cheek against the soft fur of the blanket as he thought. It was a long time before he opened his book and resumed reading.

 

***

 

Skyhold’s lower guard tower rose from the mountain pass as the troop rounded a bend in the trail, the high stonework nothing short of glorious to Dorian in that moment. While the keep itself was little more than a grey shadow off in the distance, they were finally within Inquisition territory again. After a fortnight on the road to and from Crestwood, this was their first sight of rest. Rounding up the last of the bandits plaguing the village had taken the better part of four days, and Dorian was more than ready for the mission to end.

Dorian let out a sigh of relief as they rode past the familiar stonework and he was not the only one.

“Andraste’s blessed ass,” Blackwell muttered. “I thought we’d never see it again.”

“You doubted our beloved Inquisitor's ability to get us home?” Varric teased from his place beside the Warden. The archer leaned over and shot a wink towards the man in question at the head of the pack.

The other caught on quick and Alex called back from his place at the front of the troop to the Warden.“You wound me, Blackwall,” Alex said, feigning a hurt tone. “And here I thought we were finally getting along.”

“It’s not you I doubted,” Blackwall said, slumping over the horn of his saddle. The wound he had taken from a bandit’s mace apparently still aching even days later. “But my ability to remain in a saddle long enough to make it to a bed.”

Dorian saw the smile fall from Alexander’s face at the warrior’s words, and the Inquisitor pulled his golden Ranger back to fall into place next to the Grey Warden.

“Do you need a potion?” Alex said patting the nearest saddled bag as if hoping to find a small phial tucked away. A fruitless endeavor since they had used the last of their stock that morning. “I’m sure there’s one somewhere. Dorian, would you--”

“It’s fine, Inquisitor,” Blackwall said, uncharacteristically cutting off their leader. “We are not far and I wouldn’t want to delay our return. I can make it the few miles we have left.”

A flush rose over what little could be seen of the Warden’s cheeks through his thick beard and the man gazed resolutely down at the horn of his saddle. Looking at Blackwall’s rigid posture, Dorian understood what was troubling the other man.

Appearing weak in front of another was never easy for a man like Blackwall and, given his current tenuous status in the Inquisition, an unwise decision. Any weakness could prove to be grounds for expulsion after all.

While Alex had accepted the man back into his group of companions with an oath of complete transparency from the Warden, there were still those that thought the decision a mistake.None dared approach the Inquisitor and challenge his authority directly, but that did not stop tongues from wagging. It was an experience Dorian was more than familiar with.

While he may not be particularly close to the other man, Dorian could empathize with Blackwall’s situation. After all, Dorian’s own status within the Inquisition seemed tenuous at the best of times given who he was.

For that reason he intervened before the Inquisitor could push the matter. “We could always tie you to the saddle should you start to lean, Blackwall. I’m sure we could find enough rope to fit around that ridiculous set of armor you wear.”

“It’s called proper protection, mage,” Blackwall huffed, a look of relief crossing his features. Good. He knew what Dorian was doing. “You might want to look into a few sheets of steel yourself. Cotton won’t hold up against the blade of a Red Templar.”

“Cotton?” Dorian gasped, scandalized. “My dear man, this is fustian velvet. Surely even a man such as you can tell the difference?”

Blackwall waved a dismissive hand at the mage’s words and sent a smirk his way. “It’s all fabric, Dorian.”

Companionable silence followed Blackwall’s words and the troop pressed on, eager to cross Skyhold’s bridge and find rest on the other side. The final miles passed easily and Skyhold’s main gate towered over them shortly after the sun had reached its zenith.

The quartet crossed the threshold into Skyhold’s lower courtyard and, like a cloud finally moving from the sun, they all relaxed with an audible exhalation of air.The men dismounted and led their steeds to the stables, stretching their sore muscles as they walked. They reached the row of pens and made short work of removing their travel packs and weapons from the saddle bags.

A blur of motion from the corner of Dorian's eyes caught his attention and he tensed, battle instincts kicking in. The past fourteen days spent on constant alert for any sign of danger had drained the mage, but it took only one moment for the situation to change, even in Skyhold.

 _Maybe especially in Skyhold,_ Dorian thought reaching for his staff.  _Better cautious than dead_.

Darting from the base of the kitchen stairs was a female figure. Her short and stocky stature gave her away as a dwarf and Dorian’s grip fell from his staff at the sight of her green hood and beige tunic—a messenger. She must have been lying in wait for the Inquisitor to return to relay her message.

“Ser!” The dwarf said, snapping off a sharp salute and waiting to be acknowledged.

Alex glanced up from his horse, his blue eyes hardening as he took in the messenger. His shoulders drew back subtly and he nodded for her to continue, a near palpable aura of authority falling around him. It might have been Dorian’s imagination, but he could have sworn that the messenger stood just a little taller when Alexander’s full attention fell on her.

“Inquisitor, have something for you,” the messenger said, crowding the man the moment he stepped from his horse.

Dorian rolled his eyes at the dwarf’s tenacity and turned back to his Talisian Strider. He continued to remove his travel pack from his mount but kept half an ear on the conversation behind him in case he needed to react to the news.

“What is it?”

“It’s about your order, ser.”

Dorian relaxed at her words.  _Nothing too serious then_ ,he thought _—_ a spot of personal business for the Herald and not a new mission or errand to run.

 _Thank the Maker,_  Dorian thought. Alex had a tendency to bring Dorian along on his missions, and while the mage was flattered that the Inquisitor often sought his company and battle expertise, right now a new mission seemed impossible.

With a final pat to his horse’s flank, Dorian handed the mount off to the stable boys for it to be properly dressed down and returned to its pen.

The mage turned to head towards the nearest entrance into the Keep, eager to change into a fresh set of clothes. Already his mind was drifting to the research he had left behind and the fascinating treatise on the Fade by Genitivi that he had claimed the night before leaving. If he was lucky it would still be squirreled away in his nook, but he wouldn’t put it past Solas to have snapped it up in his absence. He would have done the same to the elf.

“Dorian, wait a moment if you would?” Alex asked, waving the mage down before Dorian had taken half a dozen steps away.

“Of course,” Dorian said, ignoring the grin Varric shot his way as the dwarf ambled past on his way to the tavern with Blackwall in tow.

Alexander shot him a small smile before turning back to the courier. The man finished the exchange with a few curt words and sent the dwarf off into the bowels of the keep with his answer. Dorian wondered on the purpose of the short meeting but had little time to think on it before his attention was grabbed by his lover.

Alex had walked to stand beside the mage and bent his head close to speak to him.

“Would you care for a stroll around the battlements later?” Alex asked. The question surprised Dorian as they had spent the better part of the past fortnight doing nothing but walking, riding, and fighting. His legs, while stronger by far since he’d joined the Inquisition, felt sore enough to warrant a long soak in the officer’s baths. A glance at Alex’s face killed his refusal before it had even fully formed.

The man’s blue eyes shone up at Dorian, crinkling at the corners from a smile with an ease that never existed while the man was outside of the keep. To be the one to wipe that look from Alex’s face for the sake of momentary comfort would be unthinkable. Dorian Pavus was many things but intentionally cruel was not one of them, especially not towards those he considered dear.

“Very well,” Dorian said, nodding towards the staircase to the upper walkway of Skyhold just off the main gate. “I’ll meet you there in an hour. I need time if I’m to look my dashing best.”

Alex chuckled and drew closer to the other man, remaining just outside of the mage’s personal space. The man had caught on quickly to how skittish Dorian was with public displays of affection. Since then Alex had taken to ensuring that any move he made was acknowledged by Dorian first before he pushed for more, a fact for which the mage was grateful.

Dorian dipped his head towards Alex, silently acquiescing to the other’s desire for contact. He was met with a brilliant grin and a soft kiss to his cheek for his efforts. The simple contact caused his heart to skip a beat and automatically sent his eyes searching around them for an audience.

For once, luck was on Dorian’s side. The courtyard near the entrance was empty save for Cole. The spirit-boy was seated in a patch of flowers near the outer wall, utterly engrossed in examining them, and gave them no heed.

“You always look your best, Dorian,” Alex said. Covered in a week’s worth of grime and dust from their travel to and from Crestwood, Dorian felt anything but his best. He knew that he was handsome—even covered in hastily cleaned off dust—but he would need a quick bath at the very least to feel human let alone nice enough to spend time with his lover.

“No wonder you do so well in Val Royeaux’s markets; you lie so convincingly.”

“I don’t know,” Alex said brushing bodily against Dorian as he walked to the staircase leading to the entrance hall. Trevelyan drew to a halt a few paces away, looking over his shoulder to continue his remark. “There’s something about a man being so dirty that I quite like.”

“Oh?” Dorian said, stepping after the other in mock challenge. He adored these moments when Alex allowed himself to be so playful. “Perhaps I should be jealous of Blackwall then. I don’t believe the man has ever met a bar of soap in his life.”

“Stop,” Alex chided although his tone was noticeably less amused. Dorian knew the Inquisitor never cared for the petty grievances his party members shared between themselves, harmless though they might appear. He often complained to Dorian in his more dramatic (and inebriated) moments that it was those petty differences that would be the undoing of the Inquisition.

Dorian, chastised and unwilling to spoil the mood further, reached out for the other man. When his hand met the other’s arm without incident he sent up a silent cheer.

“Only joking, my Lord Inquisitor,” Dorian said, pleased when his words wrung an amused huff from Alexander. “I will see you in an hour’s time. Try not to be late.”

“When am I ever, Dorian?”

 

***

 

Dorian emerged from the heated baths a little under an hour later with his tan skin shinning a healthy pink and feeling properly civilized for the first time that week.

He had nearly rubbed his skin raw to eliminate the smell of decaying wood that permeated Crestwood and which clung to those unlucky enough to travel through its borders. While he was unsure just what the Inquisitor had in mind for their stroll, it never hurt to present one’s best at all times. Especially not if Alex wanted to make up for lost time and exchange more than a few brief kisses.

Dressed in the usual leather and metal under armor he wore around the keep Dorian felt almost human. He stopped to grab his white lambswool overcoat from his room, knowing from experience that the battlements were the coldest areas in the keep by far, before heading out to meet Trevelyan.

 _Oh yes,_  Dorian thought with a wicked grin.  _I know that quite well._

They were, after all, the most secluded area in Skyhold during the day if one knew where to look. Warming up required inventive methods but Dorian and Alex had been more than willing to explore all of them.

On his way through the Great Hall Dorian could almost pretend he couldn’t hear the hushed whispers of the visiting nobles trailing after him.

The average member of the Inquisition had accepted his presence in Skyhold—even if they were not pleased by it—and had given up on whispering behind his back. The visiting Orlesian and Fereldan nobles, however, still found places to prod that hurt.

Dorian was nothing if not resilient, however, and he drew his personality tighter around him in defiance and added a slight swagger to his hips as he walked.

If the visiting snakes thought they could unnerve him, then he would never give them proof of it. Dorian could bluff with the best of the Imperium, and no Southern noble could say that they had trumped the House of Pavus.

 _None save for one_ , Dorian thought, his eyes alighting on Alex’s form at the base of the stairs.He wasn’t alone.

A small gathering of soldiers and couriers had cornered the man against the stonework of the keep’s wall. Dorian felt his eyebrow twitch at the sight. The man couldn’t even go an hour without being hounded by the Inquisition.

Suddenly, Alexander looked up over the head of the nearest soldier and locked gazes with the mage.

Dorian held the contact and a flicker of wickedness light in his gut. He drew up short, relaxing back against the rounded wall of the keep a few yards away from Alex and his gathering. He made sure that no onlooker was paying him any attention before beginning. This show was only for the Inquisitor's eyes.

The mage brought his index finger to his mouth, his tongue a flicker of pink as it wet the digit, and he brushed the calloused pad over his bottom lip in a slow drag all while keeping his gaze trained on Alex’s face. He made a second pass then pressed firmly against the soft flesh and dragged down to show the briefest flash of white teeth. A flick of the wrist and his fingertip left his mouth and moved along his jaw down to his neck. The mage trailed his nail along the tendon to his cloth covered adam’s apple, arching his neck slightly the lower he went. Finally, he crooked the finger into the stiff collar of his overcoat and  _tugged_.

Across the courtyard Alex’s gaze was riveted on the small movements, blue eyes tracking each small tug Dorian made. The people around the Inquisitor, ever oblivious, continued to talk to the man whose attention was yards behind them.

Dorian continued to pull down, only stopping when he was halfway down his pectoral and his collar was gaping obscenely. He waited a moment, gauging Alex’s expression, before letting his hand drop back to his side taking care to brush it against his stomach on the way down.

Then Dorian turned and walked away. He made his way towards the upper courtyard, hips swaying slowly with each stair he climbed.

He knew Alexander would finish meeting with all of the soldiers and messengers— _ever the dependable Inquisitor_ —before joining the mage on the ramparts, but there was no reason not to give him a little incentive to finish faster.

 

***

 

“You are a cruel man, Pavus.”

“I wonder which of us is truly the cruel one, my Lord Inquisitor?” Dorian drawled. He continued to lean against the rampart, arms crossed and elbows perched against the cold stone, looking out over the snowdrifts in the valley below Skyhold. “We planned for a date yet when I go to meet you, what do I find? My lover surrounded by half a dozen men all vying for his attention. That sounds far crueler than my innocent tease.”

Despite what Dorian might say, he knew Alex would get him back for his little stunt. The prospect was far more exciting than he anticipated.

“You make it all sound so sordid,” Alex said walking over to join the mage. The younger man pressed their biceps together until no space existed between them.

Here, on a rampart high above the milling crowds in Skyhold's courtyards, they could be together without reservation. Only soldiers patrolled the far corners of the walkways and Dorian and Alex had long since learned their schedules to avoid any untimely interruptions. Besides, the mage preferred the private moments between the two men when he didn’t have to worry about the presence of others.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of their relationship; the truth could not be further from that. He just had a reasonable understanding of the situation. The Inquisitor could not be seen fawning over a Tevinter Altus or—Andraste forbid—making out with one like a hormonal youth. The Inquisitor needed to be a symbol and a symbol could not be seen to have the same needs and desires as a common man.  

At least, Dorian tried to convince himself that was the case. It had nothing to do with not wanting the world see the two in a relationship only to witness its end. The aftermath would wreak havoc on the stability of Dorian’s mind never mind his heart.

Shaking such maudlin thoughts from his head, Dorian turned his attention back to the here and now. In this moment, nothing mattered but the warmth of the Inquisitor against his arm and the teasing glint in the man's blue eyes.

Dorian swayed in place to bump his hip against Alex’s. “It was positively indecent. I’m surprised the Chantry mothers didn’t fall in a dead faint at the sight.”

“Perhaps you’re just jealous that others gain my attention so easily?”

The mage turned sharply at the comment and was met by a pair of soft lips for his trouble.

Sensation hit him all at once. The brush of the Inquisitor's fur collar against the sliver of his still bare neck; the smell of sweat that clung to the other man signifying that he had yet to break away long enough for a full soak and made due with a brief wash; the sharp inhale of air from his own lips and the answering exhale from Alex’s; and the bright taste of the other man matched only by the hue of his eyes so close to Dorian’s own.

Kissing the Inquisitor was like drowning in his senses. It was marvelous and terrifying and Dorian craved it like nothing before.

All too soon Alex pulled away and Dorian’s senses snapped back solely to himself though not in the same condition. Where once Dorian had felt on edge, slighted by the delay to his date with the Inquisitor, now he felt at ease.

“Much better,” Alex said. His hot breath brushed against Dorian’s cheek with each syllable that sent shivers racing down the mage’s spine. “I was afraid you would continue to be cross with me.”

“I might yet still be,” Dorian said though he didn’t mean a word of it. Alex appeared to know and he dropped another quick kiss to Dorian’s lips before pulling back to his original position.The two men remained at ease, neither talking nor moving as they watched the slow moving river far below.

After some time spent in comfortable silence, the mage felt Alex tense. It was no more than a slight shift to his weight and arm position, but to Dorian it felt like a blow from a practice staff. He glanced at Trevelyan from the corner of his eye in an attempt to gauge the other’s mood but could gleam nothing from the sharp features.

Alex ducked his head once then spoke to Dorian in profile, eyes staring out across the mountain peaks.

“I have something for you, Dorian,” Alex said. Another short duck and then Alexander turned to face Dorian fully. “A gift.”

“Really? That’s two in a month, Alexander.” He knew his pass at chastisement was little more than a farce. Dorian adored receiving gifts, especially those from his lover, but some small traitorous part of his mind whispered doubts and fears with each one. “What will people say?”

 _“What will people say?”_ Dorian already knew. He had heard their whispers; words that echoed in the Great Hall just as they did in his own mind.

“ _Dorian Pavus,_ that _one. The Tevinter Magister.”_

_“The one using the Inquisitor?”_

_“Have you seen the gifts the Herald lavishes on him? And not one protest from the_ magister _himself.”_

_“I think he encourages the Inquisitor.”_

_“Uses him, really.”_ That was the same haunting thought that had dogged his mind all those months ago when Alex retrieved his family amulet.

However, he could not remember that without calling to mind Alex’s answer,  _“Go ahead and use me, Dorian. Or are you all talk?”_ Remembering those words eased the knot inside of the mage and Dorian allowed himself to enjoy the prospect of an unexpected gift.

“One might think you’re playing favorites,” Dorian teased.

“Hush,” Alex said. “I know how much you adore gifts.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You never needed to,” Alex said, withdrawing his hand along with a small square box from the inner pocket of his grey velveteen winter coat. “The way your eyes light up gives you away.”

“Lies and slander,” Dorian said reaching for the gift.

“See?” Alex said. He pulled the gift away from Dorian’s grasping fingers to place a feather light kiss over the dark mole at the corner of the mage’s eye. “Just like that.”

The mage’s throat felt as if someone had filled it with cotton and he struggled to form words. The place where Alex had kissed throbbed in time with his heartbeat and he barely managed, “the gift?” through his suddenly hoarse throat.

In answer, Trevelyan reached out for Dorian’s hand and folded the mage’s fingers around the palm-sized box.

A cursory exploration gave no hint towards its contents. So far as Dorian could tell, it was just a small wooden box tied together with a length of white string that weighed no more than two ounces.Dorian made short work of the knot and had the lid open before he knew it.

Inside, nestled in-between layers of cotton, was a snake’s head. For a moment Dorian almost thought it was real so perfect was the likeness, but upon closer inspection he found it to be made of metal.

The dark, olive green of the gift gave it away as a piece of worked serpentstone, a highly fitting choice given its subject matter. Small scales had been painstakingly cut into the metal and Dorian felt the small ridges with the tip of a finger. The metal had been worked with a polishing cloth until it shone like water, a sheen matched only by the silverite worked into the exposed curved tongue and mouth. It was no larger than an egg but it was perhaps the most gorgeous thing Dorian had seen in the South.

With trembling fingers Dorian removed it from the white nest of cotton and rotated the metalwork to glance at the gift from all angles. The bottom had been smoothed flat and the added latch and hook gave it away as a broach, one used to secure a cloak or high collar in place.Perhaps more catching than the appearance of the gift was the faint hum of magic the mage felt emitting from the piece.

Curious, Dorian peered at the broach and probed it with his own magic in an attempt to figure out just what magical property it had. Beyond a general sense of warmth however, he was at a loss for what enchantment had been used. Whoever had crafted the work had the skills of a master and Dorian could only think of a few people in Skyhold who could boast such skill.

“Amatus…”

“I take it you like it?”

“Like it?” Dorian said with an overwhelmed laugh. “I couldn’t possibly accept this!”

“What? Why not?” Alex said looking strangely frantic at the notion of Dorian not accepting his gift. “I had it specially made after the design on your armor. I thought it important; you wear it so often.”

Alex’s admission caused Dorian’s gut to clench further.  _So the snake wasn’t just a coincidence_.

“If…if it is truly not to your taste then I can perhaps return it—“

“No!” Now that he had the gift in his hands it would take a dragon to separate it from his hold. It wasn’t simply a matter of the gift being gorgeous.

Even though Alexander hadn’t known  _why_  Dorian used that particular design, he had picked up on its importance to Dorian and had gone to great—and expensive—lengths to create a personal gift for the mage. Knowing that Alex had ordered this perhaps weeks ago and had modeled it, even unknowingly, after the Pavus house moniker he wore was humbling. This was no mere bauble hastily picked up from a merchant on a trip to Val Royeaux; this was Alex’s way of showing that he truly knew Dorian, even on so small a detail as his robe’s design.

To have another know him so well was not an experience Dorian was familiar with but one he was quickly becoming addicted to.

The swell of emotions rolling in Dorian’s gut confused the mage, and he would be hard pressed to name all of them, but he could clearly feel love and adoration towards Alex.

“Dorian, you’re not making any sense,” Alex said, rubbing his hand against the shorn hair at the side of his head. Dorian absently noted that the short crop Alexander usually kept on the sides and back would need another pass with a blade soon. “You just said you couldn’t accept it.”

“That’s true, I did. I only meant—“Dorian bit his tongue before his words spilled out uncontrollably. How could he make Alex understand that he ached to keep the token but that by doing so he would only encourage the man’s behavior? Dorian would have no problem with it if it weren’t for what the people would  _say_  to see the mage receive so many gifts.

“Is it that you…want to keep it, but you don’t think you should?” Alex said carefully, slowly, testing each word before moving on to the next.

 _Damn and bless Alexander for getting it,_  Dorian thought overwhelmed.

Alex reached a hand out and laid it over Dorian’s trembling one. Funny, he hadn’t noticed that he was still shaking.

The man’s strong fingers held the mage’s in a firm grasp, their owner closing the last of the distance between them at the same time. The broach was locked between their strong grasps and further cradled by their tightly pressed chests.

“Go ahead and use me, Dorian,” Alex said, his voice no louder than a soft murmur, echoing his words from so long ago. The same words that had passed through the mage’s mind but minutes prior.

Dorian let out a helpless gasp of air. How could this man know exactly what he needed to hear to accept the situation?

“Or are you all talk,” Dorian finished. The mage knew then that is wasn’t just a flirty response used to ease Dorian’s discomfort, but a declaration of Alexander’s own feelings for him. So far as Dorian was beginning to understand it, Alex’s gifts were just a means of showing that affection.

“Forgive me, I let my shock get the better of me,” Dorian said. “It is gorgeous, amatus. Thank you.”

While a please smile crossed the Inquisitor’s face, a troubled pinch remained between the man’s thick brows.

“If it truly disturbs you, I can…refrain from giving you any more gifts,” Alexander said. The look of rejection on his youthful features seemed odd to Dorian, expressing a magnitude of emotion beyond what the situation called for.

 _But then_ , Dorian reasoned,  _if I rejected the gifts I would be rejecting the man himself._

Gift-giving was an inherent part of Alexander Trevelyan and Dorian would never think to reject the other for that nature. The Inquisitor gave gifts not for favor or bribery but because he enjoyed seeing the look of pleasure on the recipient’s face. And after all, Dorian did adore receiving gifts.

“It seems that I am doomed to receive all your gifts with ill-grace,” Dorian said.

“So long as you accept them,” Alex retorted with a small nervous laugh.

“Amatus, I think I’d accept anything you gave me,” Dorian teased, delighting in the pleased flushed it elicited in Alex’s cheeks. “Come, let’s walk a while.”

Dorian and Alex strolled around the battlements and Dorian, emboldened by the snake broach tucked away into his coat pocket, linked his arm through the Inquisitor’s as they walked.

The pleased smile on the other man’s face was worth the itch of eyes on the back of his neck when they neared the garden overlook.

“I am surprised you got me an enchanted gift, amatus,” Dorian said, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking. He could not tell if it was from the attention they were receiving or from the temptation to experiment and figure out just what type of enchantment had been placed over the broach. He wished it was the latter.

“You can tell it’s enchanted?” Alex looked genuinely surprised at Dorian’s comment.

“Of course I can,” Dorian said perhaps sharper than the response called for, but it was his default reaction to someone questioning his abilities as a mage. While his own specialty lay in casting and not enchanting, he could tell that some spell had been placed over the stone even if he couldn’t—loath as he was to admit—figure out just what exactly it was. Having Alex point out his limitations, however, was an unwelcome feeling. It felt as though he had failed the other in some way.

“I meant no offense.” Alex brushed his fingers over the arm Dorian had locked with his own in apology, the fleeting touch sending shivers down Dorian’s spine and soothing his mood. “Only the, ah,  _person_  I commissioned it from promised that it wouldn’t be detectable. At least, not until the right moment.”

“The right moment?” Dorian had heard tell of high level enchanters who were able to hide the enchantments on their weapons and artifacts when not in use. Perhaps the broach was the same? If it was, Dorian could only think of two enchanters within the hold with enough power to do so: Dagna and Vivienne. Either woman created wonders in their work and he was even more curious to find out what they had been roped into helping with. “Whatever is it?”

“You want me to just tell you?” Alex asked. “That’s surprising. I would have thought you’d want the challenge of figuring it out on your own.”

“You’re right, of course,” Dorian admitted, warmth flaring in his chest at the other man knowing him so well. “I’ll have to be careful when I examine it. I wouldn’t want to lose an arm or my hair by accident.”

“I would never give you something that might hurt you, Dorian.” Dorian drew up short at the intensity in the other man’s voice. He glanced over at Alex’s face, taking in the firm line to his mouth and the blue eyes that shone with sincerity. It was breathtaking.

“Of course not, amatus,” Dorian said, the words barely more than a breath of air. How did this man keep pushing him off balance? Alexander took away his words so easily that it frightened him at times. The power Alex wielded over the rifts was nothing compared to the power he had over Dorian, and the man didn’t even know it.

“But you know how it is,” Dorian said, desperate to regain some semblance of control over his heart and the conversation. “A spell here, a dispel there, and boom—there go my eyebrows.”

“I find that hard to imagine,” Alex said with forced levity. “I can’t imagine you’d endanger any part of your face for the sake of knowledge.”

“I suppose you don’t know me as well as you might think,” Dorian said. “Have I ever told you about the time when I was a student in Qarinus? I spent the better part of a month with bruises over my face because I couldn’t get this ice spell to work…”

Dorian continued to regale his lover with tales, subtly drawing the man back along the ramparts to the eastern end and its seclusion.

 

***

 

Later that evening, Dorian stopped by Skyhold’s seamstress to have the broach attached to his favorite set of Enchanter armor, a set he had painstakingly commissioned from Harrit (the blacksmith may have cursed him every step of the way, but the man made a damn fine set of armor). The elf cooed over the workmanship, but Dorian remained tight lipped on its source. So far as he was concerned, the gift was his own business and none need know that Alex had given it and he told her as much.

The seamstress had frowned but promised to have it done as quick as she could, but that it would have to wait until she was done with the latest batch of soldier’s uniforms. Dorian could not fault her for that loath though he was to wait. It was far more important that the officers had proper protection in the field then for him to have a new bauble attached to his clothes.

He returned a few days later to pick up the garment and smiled in pleasure at the contrast between the dark green metal and the soft white of the silk robe. Even the dark red Higher Weave of the overcoat worked nicely alongside the metal.

Dorian changed into the robe in a corner tucked behind a series of hung tapestries that offered a modicum of privacy. The seamstress cooed over her work and how well it suited him as Dorian left, the elf’s praises bringing a slight flush to the mage’s cheeks.

Leaving the seamstress’s quarters in the Keep’s lower level, Dorian fiddled with the broach and once more tried to figure out the enchantment. It didn’t seem likely that Alex had gone to Dagna for the commission if he wished to keep the enchantment a surprise—she would be far too excited to keep such a feat silent and would tell any who asked about the process in exacting detail. That left only Vivienne and he would be loath to get the answer from her. She’d tease him for weeks.

He could hear her now, “What, darling? A Tevinter Altus unable to find the answer to a Southern barbarian’s magic? How delightful.”

That left it up to him to figure it out.

 _How marvelous_ , Dorian thought with a grin.

A discreet cough to his left brought him out of his musings as he crossed through the lower antechamber. He paused and looked over, a scowl pulling at his mouth when he saw the noise’s source—Mother Giselle. The Chantry Mother approached him sedately from the base of the staircase that lead up to the Great Hall.

“A word, young man,” she said, her thick Orlesian accent carrying across the distance between them. To the mage, it seemed to echo ominously in the large space around him despite the hall being quite crowded.

Dorian glanced around, hoping to catch sight of a friendly face he could join to beg off the coming confrontation with the woman. Servants darted through the area laden down with bundles of fabric or platters of food, easily moving between the various persons scattered in the enclosed area, and nobles clustered in small groups tittered and boasted in turn.

 _No such luck,_  Dorian thought and his mood dropped further. While there were many faces in the area, none of them were friendly.

With a sigh, Dorian turned back to the woman. “Yes,  _mother_?” he said, placing heavy sarcasm on the word and its implications. Dorian had never cared for his mother interfering in his life and he cared even less so for the Chantry mother’s attempts. Going by the pinched corners of the woman’s mouth she had understood his word play and did not find it amusing in the least.

“I had hoped to converse with you as reasonable adults,” the mother said, anger getting the best of her and thickening her accent as a result. “But if this is how you wish to conduct yourself, I can see my efforts are wasted.”

 _Damn her,_  Dorian thought. She had trapped him. To refuse further conversation would credit her point and make Dorian the fool. He had no choice but to continue.

“You have my fullest attention,” Dorian said but neglected to add “until something, anything, takes it away.”

“It has come to my attention that you and the Inquisitor have been spending time with one another,” she began and Dorian jumped on her sentence at once. He had no wish to relieve their conversation from the rookery some weeks ago.

“Yes, as he does with all of his companions.”

“Yet not the same at all if I am not mistaken?” Again she had trapped him and he berated himself for falling so easily into her traps.

 _You are better than this, Dorian,_  said a voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously like his father. He remained silent and waited for her to continue.

Giselle’s mouth had pinched once more at Dorian’s silent affirmation.

“There have been rumors of…favoritism in the halls, young man,” she said, pausing delicately and intentionally over the term. “I am sure you can understand how such a condemning act could undermine the Inquisition’s efforts, yes?”

“What does that have to do with the Inquisitor and I?” Dorian said. Favoritism? The man was as generous to a perfect stranger as he was to Cassandra or Solas. One need only ask and the Inquisitor would have it done, by his hand or those of his forces.

“There has been talk amongst the people that the Inquisitor has been paying you special attention.” With those words, Dorian’s heart dropped. The phrase was both wonderfully vague yet damning in its numerous implications.

“Special?” Dorian didn’t realize he had spoken until he felt the final syllable roll from his tongue.

“The ornament at your throat came from him, if I am not equally mistaken,” she said, brown eyes darting down to the new attachment when she spoke of it. At once, the broach felt far heavier on his throat than moments prior. He resisted the urge to grasp at it if only just.

“I don’t know, are you?” Dorian hedged, desperate to get away. What she was saying, the implications, did not sit well with the mage. “The mind is the first thing to go, as they say. You might want to see the healer if you’re—“

“You understand,” Mother Giselle said over the babbling mage. “How such a thing appears? The Herald bestowing gifts on a man from the same country as the enemy? Word will undoubtedly spread to our allies. They will say, ‘see our Inquisitor, used by a Tevinter magister for gifts and riches. How can we trust ourselves to this man?’ and they would not be wrong.”

“Now see here!” Dorian said unable to stop from advancing on the woman. The look of triumph on her face at the act only increased his anger. He forced himself to remain still and took a step back. If the woman thought his aggression a sign of his guilt then he needed to correct her.

“As I’m sure you know, Mother Giselle, the Inquisitor is an uncommonly kind man,” Dorian began evenly while his mind raced with ways to defuse the situation without revealing too much. He and Alexander may have agreed on more, they had never discussed what, exactly, ‘more’ entailed; the fault for which lied with the mage. Out of fear, he had curbed Alexander’s attempts to discuss the matter, distracting the man with kisses until he let the matter go. “If he sees fit to share gifts amongst his followers, then surely we cannot begrudge the man his kindness?”

“We are not swayed by displays of wealth, Tevinter. Bribery and extortion may be the norm in the Imperium, but it is not so here.”

“You are suggesting that our lord Inquisitor is engaging in bribery?” Dorian said, smirking as the woman pressed her lips together, for once caught by her own words. “It would crush him to hear that is how the people perceive him. If you could tell me these rumors, I would be able to share them with Trevelyan.

“Or perhaps,” Dorian said, crossing his arms over his chest with easy grace. “He would wish to know from where exactly these rumors began. It is always better to cut the head off a snake than suffer its poison continuously.”

Mother Giselle’s mouth pulled into a flat line at the mage’s words. Her eyes darted down to the broach at his throat and spoke her next words without raising her eyes from the metalwork. “I too share the same concern.”

“There is no cause for concern, you reverence,” Dorian nearly hissed the last syllable at the Mother unknowingly proving her point. “As Alex has already told you.”

Finally, Dorian had driven her into a corner. She would not openly show derision over her Herald’s words, especially not to the man’s rumored lover and in so crowded a place. If the woman had any further concerns, she would have to take them to Alexander and explain in detail the reason for her words.

Dorian would have paid to see such an occurrence. To watch his lover remind the woman that her place was to support the Inquisition and not to spread rumors about its leader or those he spent time with.

 _Interfering where she is not wanted or needed,_  Dorian spat in his mind. He didn’t wait for the woman to excuse herself merely turned and walked past her up the stairs into the Great Hall.

 _A visit to Alex is in order_ , he decided though he had no intention of sharing the encounter with the man despite what he told Giselle. The Inquisitor had enough to deal with without adding the petty grievances of a Chantry Mother to the list. Besides, Dorian was more than capable of dealing with the woman—provided it was just false rumors she had been speaking and not some shard of truth.

A shiver of unease traced up his spine and he quickened his steps. While he might not tell the man about it, he could still draw comfort from Alexander’s presence and touch.

 

******

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian actually wears a snake head broach in-game and I think it's just a really cool small detail on his armor.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!


	2. ACT II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts the way most great tales do, with a dragon, but this is no tale and Dorian is very much affraid

Over the course of the next week, several reports poured into Skyhold over the next week from the northernmost (and newest) holding in the Hinterlands, Dusklight camp. Each called, if not exactly by name, for the Inquisitor to finish his expedition into the region.

While Alex usually left scouting a new area to Leliana’s agents or Cullen’s troops, he had jumped at the chance to explore the Hinterlands further. The joy in the man’s face at the prospect had quelled any reprimands the Inquisition’s general or spymaster may have had. No one could resist the usually restrained Inquisitor when he expressed such excitement. That was something Dorian knew quite well.

Alex had once confided in Dorian that he enjoyed the Hinterlands since they reminded him of his family home in Ostwick. When Dorian had pointed out that the wilds were hardly the same as an estate in a Free Marches city-state, Alexander had laughed and launched into an impassioned description of the Trevelyan’s hunting lodge.

It seemed that while the Trevelyans may have had a home in central Ostwick (“As was only befitting the eighth most noble family in Ostwick,” Alex had proclaimed with a smirk dancing on his lips) the family lived in the outskirts of the city in a large lodge that had been passed through the generations of the Trevelyan family. Alex had even told Dorian that it had been built by his great-great grandfather with the help of the elf he had been courting.

“Since then, it has become tradition that a Trevelyan gift something made of wood when courting,” Alex had said.

The man’s eyes had misted over at the admission and he had smiled at Dorian with a softness that sent his heart racing. The mage had been far too concerned kissing the man breathless to ponder over the admission and later had written it off as Alex simply sharing another detail about his life with his lover.

In the here and now the Inquisitor and his chosen party of Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric, were passing through the recently excavated cave. While the Inquisition’s forces had cleared the largest of the debris from the tunnel, the ground was uneven and more than a few rocks shot out from under Dorian’s feet.

The group exited the cave and examined the new area. It was unlike any other in the Hinterlands.

While the region near Fort Conner had been thrown into disorder during the Mage-Templar war, the destruction there was like night and day compared to the new area. The valley before them was a horror show of pale, sickly greenery, odd rock formations, and fire. The few trees on the edges of the valley were cracked and burnt, their colossal white trunks lying over the uneven ground like twigs cast aside by a child in a game of sticks.

In the center of the valley lied a large rock formation made from the same strange geometric rocks that rose from the surrounding hillside in uneven waves. It towered over the group but even that was dwarfed by the large mountains on either side of the valley.

For how unnerving the area looked, it was the utter absence of sound that set Dorian’s nerves on edge.

There was life everywhere in the Hinterlands: herds of rams roaming the southern fields, bushy-eared fennecs darting wherever there was grass to hide in, and large bears that stuck to the western forests in packs. All of that and more meant that there was never a quiet moment in the Hinterlands, but here there was nothing, no life.

What little wind there was caused the nearby trees to creak and he could hear the distant crackle of fire and snapping branches somewhere behind the large rock formation. Beyond that there was nothing no matter how hard he strained his ears.

“What happened here?” Alex said, edging closer to the nearest patch of burnt ground. He reached out with his marked hand, holding his fingers above the scorched dirt. “I’ve never seen a wildfire do this.”

Dorian crouched next to the man to see the damage for himself. It was no mere ash pile: for several feet the ground had been scorched with heat great enough to melt the stones and strains of iron running through the ground. Dorian placed his hand boldly on top and half expected to be burnt for his efforts, but it was cool to the touch.

“Most likely it was the mages,” Cassandra said. She stalked around the area in search for the aforementioned enemies as if they were hiding just behind a rock waiting to ambush the Inquisitor. “A fight gone wrong, I expect.”

“Mages?” Varric said. “We wiped out their camp weeks ago. Besides, there haven’t been any mages this close to Redcliffe since we kicked Alexius out.”

“Then what could it be, Varric?” Cassandra said, glaring at the dwarf. In answer, he could only shrug.

“What do you think, Alex?” Dorian asked, drawing his fingers over the ground again. The answering hum of magic tugged at the corners of his mind and he’d be inclined to agree with Cassandra if it weren’t for the utter feeling of  _wrong_ that surged through him. “It’s like no magic I’ve ever felt. It feels…feral.”

“I’m not sure,” Alex said. He motioned for Cassandra and Varric to join the two men and stood once more. When the four huddled close together he pitched his voice low and spoke again, “Cassandra, Varric, go around that side of the rocks. We’ll take the other and meet in the middle on the other side.”

The group spilt in two and they crept around the rock formation, keeping their steps as silent as possible. If an enemy were lying in wait as Cassandra feared, it would be the perfect place to ambush the small party.

Dorian could see Alex fingering his bottle of smoke in the pouch attached to his right thigh. He knew from experience that the man could pull it out and cast it over himself faster than Dorian could cast a spell. It was impressive to watch.

Their paranoia was for naught as no force waited behind the rocks, or behind any of the other short hills and cliffs in the small valley. The group made it to the other end without incident and Dorian wanted to write their caution off as simple paranoia except for the silence that permeated the area.

He edged closer to Alex and pitched his voice low to speak with him. Talking too loudly seemed unwise in the unnatural stillness of the area. “You’ve noticed how quiet it is, yes?” Dorian asked, his fingers tightening their hold on his staff in unease.

_Chin up, Dorian. Are you an Altus or not?_ The mantra didn’t help against the lingering sense of wrong that continued to grow in his gut.

Dorian considered himself to be a brave man, had proven just so on numerous battlefields and dueling halls across Thedas. There was something about the entire situation that had thrown the man, however, and he felt wrong footed for the first time in years.

In deference to the creeping unease in his gut, the mage drew his shoulders back and stood just a little taller and collected his wits. Whatever they would meet—if indeed there was anything to encounter at all—Dorian would do so with a proud spine and strong heart. He would offer no less to the Inquisitor or himself.

“Something has driven the wildlife off,” Alex said.

“You sure it’s not just the fire?” Varric said from his place at the rear of the group. “I don’t think an animal would risk catching on fire just for a nap.”

Alex shook his head at the dwarf’s words, a line forming between his brows at the continuing mystery.

The group had just crossed under a large arch of stone at the end of the short valley when the sound returned all at once. A shriek like no other rose out of the silence and seemed all the louder for it. Scrabbling at his ear with his unoccupied left hand, Dorian pressed his palm flat against the appendage and winced in pain.

“Oh,  _shit_ —“

Dorian had to agree with the dwarf when a large shadow fell over the group. The terrible screech sounded once more, but this time Dorian could see the source of the noise: a dragon cresting the eastern hill. The beast was massive, easily the size of a Qunari dreadnaught from snout to tail, and it entered the clearing on great wings.

Dorian had only seen such beasts in grimoires and codices from the safety of a library or his father’s study. Even when he lived in Tevinter, the land where such beasts had once been worshiped as gods, Dorian had never seen more than statues and sketches of the beings.

As a child he had been fascinated by the large creatures and had read every book in his father’s library on the mythical beings. Halward Pavus had encouraged his son’s interests and bought him exotic grimoires from traveling merchants to aid the boy’s research. Now, staring down the beast— _a Ferelden frostback,_ his mind supplied—he wished his father had burned those books instead.

There had been whispers of dragons reappearing in the more remote areas of Thedas but the Hinterlands were not barren by any means. That such a beast was in the region and before their eyes at that moment seemed beyond belief.

Even Cassandra, a descendent of the Pentaghast family, could not have boasted seeing a dragon in real life until that moment. The only experience any of them had with the beasts were the Archdemons of the Blights and Corphyeus’ pet but even those weren’t truly dragons. They were corrupted images twisted by darkspawn into great hulking creatures that only resembled dragons in the simplest ways. The Frostback circling in the clear blue sky was far more terrifying for its reality—this was no mere distortion, this was a true dragon. It defied reality but there it was, circling the small group like any bird of prey.

Dorian barely muffled the inappropriate laughter that the thought brought to his throat before it could escape into the air. Calling the dragon a bird was the same as calling Skyhold a hovel. Both vaguely true but the importance lied in their differences. A bird could be easily slain by one man; a dragon was another matter entirely.

Dorian shifted backwards, bumping into Cassandra who had frozen in shock at the golden beast’s appearance. Her eyes were the widest Dorian had ever seen. He might have called the look on her face fear if it was not Cassandra, but even then…

“Maybe she hasn’t seen us yet,“ but Varric had cursed them with those words. The beast’s wings titled and angled the creature towards the small group in a lazy, downward spiral.

Against the bright blue sky, the dragon’s gold and green scales stood out and rivaled the sun in their intensity. The academic part of Dorian’s mind was in awe of the dragon; the far more pragmatic side of battles and magic could only wonder at how he was to take down such a beast.

The group watched in a collective sense of horror as the beast drew closer, but Dorian chanced a glance at the Inquisitor. His eyes slammed shut at what he saw.  Alexander had withdrawn his twin daggers from their sheaths and held them in a defensive cross in front of his body. His lips were little more than a flash of pink across his tanned skin, a firm line sealing the fate of the troop.

They are to fight the Dragon. Dorian doesn’t need Alex’s verbalized order to know that.

“You can’t be serious,” Varric said, Bianca dropping to point at the ground in his shock. “You actually want us to fight that thing?”

“We don’t have a choice—“ Alex said.

“What in Andraste’s name do you mean we don’t have a choice? We have the sensible choice of not fighting a living furnace and dying in agony.” Despite his words, Varric raised Bianca from its lowered position into a tight hold across his chest.

The Inquisitor ignored Varric’s retort and settled back on his heels. “If we run the dragon might follow. We have no way of knowing what lies further north. There might not be a way out.”

“Then we retreat south!” Cassandra said. Like Varric she has readied his sword and shield, but Dorian could see her eyes darting to the cave entrance just visible on the other side of the valley.

Dorian understood what the Inquisitor was implying: it would be a mistake to retreat. The last valley was ill suited for combat. The uneven terrain would limit their maneuverability and there was no true cover to take should the beast attack from a distance. The area before them (that Dorian only saw now) would be far better for combat. The valley was wide and flat and they could move freely without impediment, and the rock overhangs at the corner of the area would make a fine defense should the beast take to the air.

For a second Dorian was able to forget about the dragon and instead stood in awe of the man before him. Trevelyan truly had a tactically brilliant mind to have come to such a rapid conclusion while the rest of his party had stood frozen in shock.

“Going south isn’t an option,” Dorian said, catching on to the final remaining reason. He gathered his mana for a strike against the circling beast. While a part of him agreed with the dwarf and Seeker and wanted nothing more than to run from the beast, Dorian would never knowingly endanger an innocent let alone an ally. And there were many allies behind him. “The camp lies that way.”

Alex nodded, a look of pride flashing over the man’s features at Dorian’s insight. “We cannot endanger the soldiers there by leading a dragon right to them. It would be a slaughter.”

Bolstered by the man’s confidence and bravery, Dorian drew himself forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Inquisitor. Dorian spun his staff in several quick circles before clacking it sharply against the ground, a few sparks of electricity flashing out at the contact.

“Maker be with us,” Casandra said, her resolve firming under the Inquisitor’s words. Varric mumbled something as well but Dorian would have put good money on it being far more vulgar than the Seeker’s prayer.         

In response, Dorian let loose a bolt of lightning towards the beast, striking it in one outstretched wing and shocking it into landing.

_I’ve never fought a dragon before_ , Dorian thought when the beast struck the ground with a thunderous roar. A great stream of fire answered his attack and all descended into chaos from there.

 

***

 

Dorian could not have said how long they fought the beast, but it’s clear that they will fail if a miracle did not occur and soon. He had never wished harder for divine intervention than that moment. Considering that they have the Herald of Andraste in their midst already, Dorian wasn’t counting on another of the Maker’s gifts.

Cassandra had been caught by the tip of the beast’s wing and sent into the large rock overhang at the corner of the valley. The collision with the stone had knocked the woman out immediately. For the moment, she’s shielded from the beast’s flames but it was clear that she was down and nothing save a healing potion would rouse her in time to rejoin the fight.

Varric had used the last five minutes ago.

For now, Alex had to rely on Dorian’s and Varric’s long distance support to cover his attacks.  The rogue darted in between crossbow bolts and streams of ice and electricity to land blows against the beast’s armored hide. His daggers were so small in comparison to the beast that Dorian feared they hardly phased the creature. He knew his magic seemed to have little effect as it glanced off spiked scales.

Dorian hurled a bolt of lightning at the Frostback’s maw before it could let a stream of fire loose on Varric, covering the archer’s retreat.

Dorian had never felt so exhausted in his life. His limbs were leaden and dragged with each movement of his staff. His attacks came slower and slower the longer he cast and the mage barely had the energy left to continue hurling magic at the dragon. The additional stress from several injuries from the beast’s fire caused him to hunch over his staff when not sending ice at the dragon.

However, Dorian was not an Altus for nothing. He had earned the rank not simply because he had been breed for it, but because he was a genius at what he did. It was not hubris that made him proclaim so; he had the skills to back up any claim he made. At twenty-five years of age, Dorian Pavus was a master at his craft.

He focused his mind entirely on the task at hand with a precision born from countless hours spent practicing. For as young as Dorian was, he had seen his fair share of battles and he grasped at all that he had learned from them to aid him now. Even as his limbs slowed and exhaustion and pain pulled at his mind, he continued his unrelenting assault on the Frostback. Dorian Pavus was a force to be reckoned with and he would not fall here, no matter his enemy.

Gathering as much mana as he could, Dorian conjured several spikes of ice from the ground to strike through the joint of the beast’s wing, deadening the appendage in a burst of frost. He barely had the chance to revel in the successful attack before he had to dodge the answering fireball with a short fadestep.

Dorian landed unevenly several feet away from the now smoking spot of land, his legs betraying him for a second as they attempted to buckle before he regained control over them with the aid of his staff.

He didn’t see the tail streaking towards him as the beast turned with the force of a gale. The appendage connected with the mage’s leather protected left flank with a resounding thud that whitened out the mage’s vision seconds after it connected.

_The only part of the beast not covered in spikes or fire, sweet, blessed Andraste,_ Dorian thought in a final moment of lucidity as his feet left the ground. For a few precious seconds he was suspended in the air. Then the ground rushed to meet his shoulder in a deadening crack that rattled his teeth.

He bounced off the ground and flew through the air once more until his back hit the surface several yards away. He skidded over the ground, his progress halted when his aching shoulder slammed into a small boulder. The contact sent another wave of blinding pain through his frame and robbed him of his vision. He felt his spine arching along the stone, each inch of his back left side colliding with the boulder. Simultaneous cracks from his ribcage reached his ear before they were drowned out by an animalist cry of pain.

Dorian collapsed on the ground in a heap of fabric, leather, and limbs. His staff clattered off to the side, landing several feet away from his outstretched arm.

“Dorian!” Alexander said—screeched really—when the mage went down, but Dorian could barely hear it or Varric’s strangled “Sparkler!” over the blood rushing in his ears. Any sounds beyond the immediate area around his body ceased to exist. All he could hear was his heartbeat.

The mage laid still in shock before an overpowering sense of pain washed through his mind and body. A long keen escaped his throat, and the mage gasped in pain at the shuddering waves of agony that coursed their way down his entire left side. Blood dripped freely from his mouth though he couldn’t tell if it was from his bitten tongue or from deeper inside his body.

Dorian could barely focus long enough to take stock of his injuries and even then he only managed it in bursts of lucidity. His left shoulder was dislocated at best, broken at worst, judging by the throbbing at the joint. His entire left side ached, and he must have had broken a few ribs the pain of breathing was so great. The blood spilling over his bottom lip now seemed far more sinister then the result of a bitten tongue. If there were further injuries it was beyond Dorian’s mind to acknowledge them.

_The ones I have are bad enough,_ Dorian tried to joke but it didn’t help; it was too close to the truth to be humorous.

His wounds pulsed in time with the rapid beating of his heart, his heart pumping with adrenaline and terror at the state of his body. Breathing was difficult and the mage couldn’t catch his breath without choking on blood or the dust centimeters away from his gaping mouth.

Whimpering in pain at the fire lancing all along his left side, Dorian curled his right arm around his stomach making sure not to jostle his left arm with the movement.

He hadn’t the energy to rise from the ground. Truth be told, he could not even manage gasping on the ground. He tried to gather his thoughts back into order but it was like grasping at smoke. The more he tried the darker his vision grew and the mage couldn’t decide which was worse: darkness of the mind or of sight.

Dorian had imagined how he would die in some of his more depressing daydreams. He always envisioned it as the result of a duel in the Imperium: the pariah dying a martyr and inspiring a new generation of mages to take up arms and fix his homeland. There was nothing inspiring about choking on dirt and blood on the ground of a valley that smelt of charred bones and metal.

He could never have envisioned dying twenty feet away from a man who called him lover and who he had called beloved in return, not in his wildest daydreams.

Dorian tried to reassure himself,  _Might just be passing out, Dorian, no need to be so dramatic. What would Alex say?_

It didn’t work. With each breath, his eyesight dimed further and his breathing became labored. A sense of panic gripped his heart as his body continued to fail. If he was just passing out, his mind did not know and it lashed out in the growing darkness for anything to latch on to. If he had the energy, the mage knew that he would be screaming at the terror that wracked his mind in time with the physical agony.

_I don’t want to die_ , Dorian thought as his heartbeat slowed.  _What will happen to Alex?_

Between the shaking pants of air that managed to escape his mouth he heard a crack, sharp like metal striking stone. His mind latched onto the noise, desperate to regain some sense of concrete reality in a space growing darker.

The crack happened again and this time Dorian located its source as coming from somewhere on his person. Another came and he could tell that it was muffled by fabric and his own body weight. His mind jumped to the broach attached to his throat.

_Did it hit the ground when I fell?_ Dorian thought, the idea swimming in his mind as he fought to remain conscious.  _Is it breaking?_

If Dorian had more control over his thoughts, then he would have laughed at himself. Here he was about to either pass out or die and he’s worried about a trinket.

_Silly,_ Dorian thought but he couldn’t stop his hand from rising. It took several starts before he could get his shaking fingers wrapped around the small metal broach.  _If I‘m to die, I’d rather not lose this too._

The familiar feeling of warmth eased his mind and distracted him from the pain. The comfort it brought slowed his ragged breathing and made it more manageable for his throat.

The metal spiked in temperature, heating rapidly under Dorian’s fingers and he almost released his hold over the broach in pain. The mage heard a final crack and felt the broach break within his grasp.

_No!_

Dorian’s gasp of terror was drowned out by a rush of magic and what he could only think to call  _life_ . It was warmth, power, vigor, and it was flowing through his fingers into his arm and further on still. It flooded his body and engulfed his mind leaving it clearer in its wake.

He knew this feeling, had felt a shadow of it before many years ago: a lifeward amulet and a powerful one too by the feel of the magic releasing from the shattered metal.

It felt like a lifetime lived in the space of minute. The energy pouring from the snake’s head rushed to the broken areas of his body. It seeped into the muscles and veins, pulling bones back into place with audible cracks that sent bolts of pain down Dorian’s spine. His skin heated under the rush of magic, the bronze color flushing dark red in the worst areas as the amulet did its work.

Through the terrible and wonderful feeling raging in his body, Dorian remembered what Alex had said all those days ago when he presented the gift: its enchantment would not be revealed “until the right moment”. The man could never have envisioned a dragon as being the cause of the right moment, but the rush of gratitude and love Dorian felt towards the other man at that moment eclipsed the power of the amulet.

As his body and mind were overwrought with love and the essence of life, all Dorian could think was that he now owed his life to Alex.

_He wasn’t satisfied with just my heart?_

With a final gasp the magic abruptly left, absorbed into Dorian’s body and mana and he felt changed. Not just healed but as if the amulet had affect his very soul.

He shifted to his right side, slowly pushing upright into a crouch. He crawled over to his staff and used it to aid him in pushing himself to his feet. Dorian stumbled once he had his feet under him but righted his balance quickly. His mind was empty for all save the desire to fight, to protect his friends and lover. Renewed vigor thrummed through his veins and bolstered his magic and he stood tall once more.

With a scream, he sent a jet of ice through the air towards the beast, the frost coating its open maw and further down into its very throat.

Alex glanced over at the source, a look of utter relief slackening his features.

“Dorian,” Alex began but focused back on the matter at hand. The man darted under the belly of the beast and rammed his swords deep into its chest, the beast all the while still reeling from Dorian’s powerful attack.

With a mournful cry, the Frostback tipped onto its side but by no means was it slain. The dragon continued to fight off it’s would be prey with everything it had. Dorian advanced with another great cry and surge of ice that struck true into the beast.

They managed to slay the dragon with a final combined strike from Dorian’s ice magic and a precision strike from Alex’s twin daggers into the beast’s skull. The moment the beast fell, Alex glanced over at Dorian with an expression of such relief and joy that Dorian had to look away.

Alexander went over to check on Cassandra while Varric hovered next to Dorian, the dwarf obviously unsure on how to react to Dorian’s fall.

Dorian had no idea how his fall had appeared to Varric or Alex, but given the dwarf’s furrowed brows and the grim line that was his mouth Dorian could imagine it had been far from pretty. For his own part, Dorian could swear that the ground still shook from when the beast had fallen though that might just have been his own body.

The two stood in silence a moment longer before Dorian took a shaking step towards Alex and Cassandra to help rouse the woman. Without the aid of healing potions, it took small, consistent tendrils of Spirit magic sent through her body to wake the Seeker. Soon she was able to sit upright on a nearby boulder with Alexander’s aid.

Despite her injuries and the bleeding gash on her forehead, the woman wore a fierce scowl at the Inquisitor’s hovering and insisted she would be fine, “with a few moments rest, I assure you.”

Seeing Cassandra conscious and talking was Dorian’s breaking point. The momentary relief at seeing the woman alive was swept away as quickly as it had come.

Now, moments after their victory, the adrenaline of the fight and the lingering lightness of the lifeward amulet wore off from Dorian’s body and mind, and the reality of the situation hit him with all the force of the dragon’s blow. With a chocked off sob the mage turned to the side and upheaved the contents of his stomach over the ground.

“Dorian!” Alex’s sudden presence at the mage’s side would have startled the man if he could focus on anything outside of his body.

_Dead, dead, dying, oh Maker, I was_ dying, I  _would have if not for Alex’s gift. I would be dead, deaddeaddea—_ Dorian cut the circular train of thought off with another sob, retching for a second time before he collapsed to the ground. He barely had the presence of mind to shift back a few feet to not land in the middle of his own bile.

His entire frame wracked with tremors and a quite keen built in his throat until it escalated in pitch and fervor. He was lost to his own mind and rolling emotions.

He was relieved to be alive, terrified to have come so close to death, and so very, very afraid of what could have happened.

Slowly he became aware of a hand running over his shoulders and another cradling the back of his head, leading it to a strong shoulder to rest on. The touch on his shoulders sent another series of tremors through his body but the keen died out under the gentle ministrations.

“Shh, shh. I have you, Dorian,” Alex cooed, repeating the words over and over. There was an answering tremor in the man’s voice and he broke on Dorian’s name each time he said it, but he continued nevertheless.

Another hand joined the Inquisitor’s on his back; the accompanying “Sparkler” was all that Dorian needed to identify the owner as Varric. Moments later Cassandra’s smaller hand brushed against his arm and despite the terror in his mind, Dorian’s heart swelled at the act. The woman was not known for having a gentle nature and she stumbled more often than not when offering comfort, but her hesitant touch soothed Dorian’s galloping heartbeat.

Kneeling next to a puddle of his own bile and surrounded by those he had come to call friends, Dorian had never felt more lost.

 

***

 

They remained in the valley for a time, only making their way back to camp after Cassandra had been able to remain upright for more than a few minutes at a time. Their movements were slow and the walk interrupted with frequent breaks though it was unclear if they were for Cassandra or Dorian. As such, the return journey took twice as long but the group made it back to camp before evening fell if just barely.

Dorian was relieved to see the soldiers stationed there whole, hale, and none the wiser of what could have been their fate if the Inquisitor’s party had retreated or failed.

The looks on the soldiers’ faces when the Inquisitor told them what occurred were nothing short of reverential. The soldiers and officers looked upon the foursome as if they were divine beings, returned from a glorious conquest. Dorian felt far from glorious covered in blood and sweet with the lingering stench of bile lying heavy on his tongue.

Each of them were given plentiful healing potions to aid in the recovery process and shown to their tents by awed foot soldiers. Dorian had not required more than a single draught of potion before his body was back to normal, but his mind was another matter. Since the attack he spoke little and barely responded when others tried to talk to him.

The morning after the attack he went back to the valley to search for the remnants of the broach. He kept his eyes glued to the ground, vying for a glimpse of dark green serpentstone against the grey and black ground. Not once did the mage glance at the dragon’s corpse.

Earlier that morning he’d overheard Alex order the soldiers stationed at the camp to extract whatever they could from the beast—leather, scales, talons, whatever seemed valuable or that could possibly be used in crafting. Dorian would have preferred letting the corpse rot in the Ferelden sun.

Alex did not bring up the beast or Dorian’s fall when alone with the mage in their shared tent for which he was grateful. Instead, the larger man simply pulled Dorian against him at night and did not let go until they were roused by a scout for breakfast. Even then Trevelyan sat close enough to Dorian to press them together from hip to knee.

Unlike Alex, Varric and Cassandra both tried to speak to Dorian but he merely gazed through them until they dropped the matter. It was not worthy behavior on the mage’s part, but for the moment he couldn’t be bothered by social niceties. The two caught on and followed Dorian’s lead in the matter (if Cassandra scowled at the mage in obvious disapproval then that was her problem and not Dorian’s so far as the mage was concerned).

Each of them had been affected by the encounter and it showed in different ways. Varric wasn’t able to tell a joke until the second morning after the attack. Cassandra fingered her sword constantly and glanced at the skies at times with a frown. Alex, when alone with Dorian, grabbed the mage and held on tight but never said a word. In front of the rest of the world however, the Inquisitor appeared unchanged.

Dorian watched as he went about his business the same as before, efficiently organizing the soldiers in the camp and addressing all reports that couriers handed to him. He became the rock by which Varric and Cassandra steadied themselves and who bolstered the troops when they faltered. To Dorian he was, as he had always been, his comfort.

On their final evening in the Hinterlands Dorian approached the man. Alex was seated next to the fire the soldiers kept well fed, going over a report the local requisitions officer had supplied him. Varric and Cassandra had wandered off, lost in one of their arguments, and the soldiers had finally stopped shadowing Alex long enough for the man to have a moment for himself. For the moment, it was just Alex and Dorian in the heart of the camp.

Without a word Dorian knelt behind Alex and pressed his forehead against the man's nape. The freshly shaved hairs felt like velvet against his forehead and Dorian let out the breath he had been holding for what seemed like days. He wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, his hands locking and pressing against Alex’s lower stomach. After a few quiet minutes spent in the position Dorian withdrew and moved into the tent the two men shared.  Alex joined him shortly after and that was all that needed to be done to get the man to embrace Dorian as the last tremors left the mage’s body.

Now Dorian was hunched over his saddle, riding as close to Alex as possible without sending his Talisan Strider into Alex’s golden Ranger. For as much as Dorian hated showing such weakness in front of the Inquisition’s forces travelling with them, he needed the closeness.

The Inquisitor’s party, flanked by a small contingent of forces culled from Dusklight camp, made their way through the mountain pass to their Keep. The steady beat of the mounts’ hooves on the uneven trail mixed with the sharp clatter of swords colliding with steel-plate armor and created the clamor of a force in motion, but no one spoke.

The soldiers deferred to the example of their silent leader and the Inquisitor's party had no desire to speak of the mundane when nothing felt quite right after the dragon. It was as if they existed in a state between the past and the present and they were unsure how to move forward in a world that no longer felt quite as sturdy as it had five days past.

_Or perhaps I am projecting_ , Dorian thought.

Dorian was no stranger to death, but he had always been on the other side of it. Thedas being was it was he had killed his fair share of humans and creatures even before joining the Inquisition. He had fought against mages in earth-shaking duels in the Imperium, and now stood beside Alex and his companions as they cut their way through bandits, Venatori, and Red Templars alike. He had suffered his fair share of injuries along the way, but this was the first time that he felt the creeping feeling of oblivion pulling at his mind. For the first time in Dorians’ life, death had not been something that happened to others but had been a very real and very immediate threat to himself.

More than that, it was the unknown that frightened Dorian. Would he have simply passed out and been on his feet the next day as Cassandra had? Would he have bled out before any help could arrive? What would have happened to him, laid bare and vulnerable in the middle of the valley, during a fight with a dragon? He had not been as fortunate as Cassandra: there were no rocks to protect his body from the dragon’s fire and its talons. The end result could have been far, far worse.

He knew how easily he could have died in that valley while the man he loved and a dwarf he counted as a friend faced down a dragon alone. For all he would have known they could have died as well.

The thought was startling and terrifying and Dorian sucked in a sharp breath at the swell of emotions it sent through his body. The mage’s eyes darted over the scant few feet separating him from his lover to reassure himself that the man was still there. Once he registered the man’s face however, his throat clenched in unease.

Alex’s blue eyes stared straight ahead, focused on the road in front of his horse and the scout taking point. It was a startling change from the days previous: where before the man had not glanced away from the mage, now he was not even looking at Dorian.

The mage’s throat tightened at the realization and before he could stop himself, his hand crept across the distance between them and grabbed at the edge of Alex’s leather gauntlet. The man’s fingers clenched around his horse’s reigns and Dorian knew the knuckles would be a stark white under the thick gloves Alex wore. While the display was smaller than Dorian’s own act of huddling, the mage recognized the emotion behind it: fear.

Dorian had never seen the man afraid before. The realization took what little breath he had and the world tilted just a little further under Dorian’s feet.

“Amatus,” Dorian said. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, didn’t know what he could say to reassure the other man when he doesn’t know what to say to reassure himself.

“It’s alright, Dorian,” Alex said, but the man did not look over at the mage even as he spoke to him. “We’re almost back to Skyhold.”

“Alex,” Dorian tried again but all he could add was a soft, “please.”

The single syllable was barely audible to his own ears and Dorian thought Alex hadn’t heard him. He didn’t think he could make a second attempt.

The mage needn’t have worried. Alex’s face shattered at the soft word: his brows pulled low over his closed eyes, his teeth dug into his bottom lip, and a single shudder wracked his frame before he went still once more, but he finally glanced back at Dorian. The sight of those bright blue eyes relaxed something deep inside of the mage.

“It’s alright, Dorian,” Alex said. He reached out for Dorian’s hand and threaded their fingers together despite their thick halla leather gloves.

It was not okay and Dorian knew this. He could feel it in the change in the air between them and the rest of the group. While there had been many close calls in the field of battle, Dorian was the first of the Companions to come so close to dying. It was a reminder of mortality, one that each of them needed to take to heart. Andraste may have saved Alex all those months ago in the Fade but she had long since left their fates to themselves.

It was the first time Dorian doubted his own power, and he did not know how to move forward with the doubt now nagging the corners of his mind.

 

***

 

When they arrived at Skyhold, Alex reached out once more for Dorian’s hand as soon as the mage dismounted and tugged the man up the kitchen’s staircase.

Several messengers waited near the stables to impart their missives to the Inquisitor, but he sent them away with a single look and wave of his hand. Normally, Dorian would have been loath to keep Alex away from his duties as leader, but right now he wanted nothing more than to be selfish.

“Sparkler,” Varric said but a soft word from Cassandra stopped whatever else the dwarf intended to say. For once, Dorian was grateful for the woman’s intervention. He didn’t think he could handle whatever Varric wanted to say.

The pair stuck to the back routes leading up the Inquisitor’s tower to avoid the main halls for which Dorian was grateful.  It would not do for the rest of the Inquisition and the visiting dignitaries to see Dorian being led by the hand like a child to the Inquisitor’s private chambers.

They arrived at the plain wooden door sooner than Dorian thought possible and he only relaxed once he reached the top of the short staircase leading up to the main room.

Alex tugged at his hand and led him further into the room, angling the mage to the large Orlesian bed and the soft blankets piled on top. Dorian squeezed Alex’s hand once and let go to sit atop the bed under his own power.

“Do you need anything?”

The words were loud in the silence that had blanketed the two men since their arrival. Dorian stared at the leather braces on his arms, picking at the dried blood caught in the crevices of the halla leather. A few spots were caught underneath the small metal pieces that decorated and protected his fingers. He looked at the dust coating the edges of his robes and boots and had the sudden urge to be clean, to wash away every reminder of the outing.

“A bath would not go remise,” Dorian said, “though I don’t think I can make the trip myself right now.”

“It’s alright.” That phrase again. It sounded like Alex was trying to convince himself as well as Dorian with those words. Dorian could see the man moving out of the corner of his eye but couldn’t bring himself to track the man fully. “I’ll help you.”

Together the two men gathered towels and clothes for after the bath and made their way down the hidden staircase to the Inquisitor’s private baths.

The bath itself was a blur to Dorian. Exhaustion pulled at the corners of his mind with each minute that passed and left him unable to focus. Alex, thankfully, made up for any failings he might have had. The man carefully cleaned the dirt and sweat off Dorian’s body, his gestures smooth and with just the right amount of pressure to clean and massage Dorian’s tired limbs.

The man was equally gentle when he pulled the mage from the bath and offered Dorian a set of sleeping pants to slide into. The soft cotton of the trousers gave them away as a pair of Alex’s. Dorian preferred the soft silks of Orlais for his casual wear but at that moment the soft touch of cotton against his skin was the best feeling in the world.

Later, lying atop the large bed, all Dorian could feel was the worn cotton brushing against his arms where they curled around his legs.

“I have to report in to Cullen about all of this,” Alex said. He swept his hand out as if to encompass all of whatever “this” was. Dorian’s mental state? The dragon? The man’s own unease? The mage couldn’t say.

Alexander was seated atop the sheets as close to Dorian as possible with the other curled in a loose ball. “I don’t think you want him up here for that.”

It was not a question but Dorian mumbled his consent either way, lulled into sleep by the man’s words and the softness of the bed.

“Knowing Cullen, he’ll probably pull me into a discussion about the troops and our current arms status. Then Josephine will get word that I’m back and corner me in the hall to talk about some noble or another and my afternoon will be lost,” Alex said, his words quick as they roll of his tongue.

“Babbling,” Dorian said, the word slurring in his mouth.  _Alex must be nervous._

“Yes, I suppose I am.” Alex ran a hand over the freshly shaved hair on his scalp. Dorian watched the movement with heavily lidded eyes.

_Has it truly just been five days since I sat him down and ran a knife oh so carefully over his scalp to tame the locks?_ It felt far longer to the mage.

“I will send someone up later with food and that horrid wine you and Vivienne adore so much. I think you’ve earned it.”

“Trying to seduce me, lord Inquisitor?” Dorian mumbled, brushing his fingers over the hand nearest to him. The joke fell flat without his usual cadence but Alexander was kind enough not to point that out.

“I’d hardly use wine, Dorian,” Alex said an odd lilt to his voice, but he did not elaborate, not even when Dorian keened in half coherent question.

With a final kiss to Dorian’s lips and temple, Alex rose from the bed and walked to the stairs.  He hesitated at the top but continued down them a moment later. It was obvious to Dorian: Inquisitor Trevelyan may be returning to the rest of Skyhold, but Alex wanted nothing more than to remain at the mage’s side.

 

***

 

Hours later, Dorian woke to the sound of the lower door opening. His eyes cracked open, battle instincts triggering at the muffled footsteps making their way up the staircase. He kept still, an easy feat since his body was still heavy with exhaustion even after hours of sleep, and waited for the figure to crest the floor line.

The hat was the first thing that registered in the mage’s mind followed shortly after by the towering bundle in the figure’s thin arms. The same arms that drove twin daggers into demons and Templars with surprising strength and that cradled bouquets of wild flowers when left unattended in Redcliffe. Cole.

Dorian allowed himself to relax back into the feather mattress, his fears assuaged by the appearance of the spirit-boy and not an enemy.

Cole drifted over to Dorian and kept his large stack of goods from tottering with his movement. He placed the stack on the corner of the bed opposite the side Dorian occupied— _the Inquisitor’s side_ , Dorian noted. It was only then that Dorian noticed the boy mumbling to himself.

“Can’t leave, have to stay, I need to, but what if he’s hurt? Can’t take that chance but they need me, he needs me but he’s fine, safe. Have to choose, can’t choose, I need him to be all right.”

Cole pulled a silver tray from the top of the stack and placed it on the bedside table. A bottle of wine Dorian recognized as the vintage he and Vivienne both favored was placed alongside a bowl of stew with a thick slice of bread finishing off the simple meal. However, the thought of food turned Dorian’s stomach and he hoped that he could pass on it. Sleep sounded far better than anything the cooks in Skyhold could make.

The spirit-boy’s head bobbed as if in agreement with Dorian’s thought and Cole moved on to the second item in his stack.

“The Inquisitor is in the war room,” Cole said. The spirit-boy’s hands ran over the item in his arms but all Dorian could make out was the white color of the object under his drooping lids. The energy Cole’s abrupt entrance inspired was dropping, leaving his body far more tired than he thought possible.

“He wanted you to have this, but can’t leave Josephine when she talks about her family—bittersweet and frustrating but hers. I came instead. I’m sorry; I know how much you want him to be here.”

“S’alright, Cole.” The spirit-boy was dear to come to him and he couldn’t begrudge Cole his compassion even if he’s not the one Dorian wished were here.

A smile pulled at the corner of the spirit-boy’s lips, pleased at Dorian’s reassurance. Dorian was almost asleep once more when a heavy weight was draped over him.  The mage wormed a hand out from underneath his nest of blankets to rub at the new addition. His ram hide blanket.

“It’s warm and bright, like honey in wine on winter evenings in front of the fire with his hand in mine. Adored, Alex,  _home_ .”

Had Dorian been fully conscious the last word would have sent him into a panic, but his mind and body were far too tired to muster anything greater than a slight twitch at the word.

“Don’t worry, he feels the same.” Cole’s final words followed him into oblivion, and if the spirit-boy said anything more it was lost to Dorian as he fell.

 

***

 

Five days after their return to Skyhold Alexander approached Dorian. For once, the mage was not sequestered away in the library pouring over texts but seated on one of the stone benches in the Keep’s herb garden.

The feel of the rare sunshine on his bare skin was worth enduring Mother Giselle’s looks of disapproval and the unnerving presence of the nobles seated along the courtyard’s benches.

He had requested a glass of mulled wine from a passing servant and the liquid warmed him just as much as the sun. Under the afternoon light he could feel the last bits of ice seeping away from his body.

“There you are.”

Dorian glanced away from the elf tending the Inquisitor’s plants to see the man himself walking across the courtyard to him.

An excited murmur rose up among the people in the garden, their surprise at the unexpected visit from their Herald apparent in their growing whispers. The man waved at the few that called out to him in greeting but did not deter from his course.

“I’m surprised to see you outside of the library,” Alex said and took a seat close to the other man but left the customary foot of space between them. “I stopped by earlier but you weren’t there. I asked Solas where I might find you but he claimed to not have seen you all day. He looked quite upset too. I think he’s grown used to having you as a neighbor in the rookery.”

“Ha!” Dorian laughed, nudging the Inquisitor’s shin with the toe of his crossed leg. “He just wants to know where I hid Genitivi’s treatise on the Fade.”

“There might have been a grumble or two.”

Their banter was easy and Dorian found himself lulled into a sense of ease that had previously escaped him the past week.

_It seemed all I needed was Alex to tease_ , Dorian thought with a tentative smile.

They spoke in soft voices, exchanging remarks on the state of the garden and Sera’s latest prank on Cullen. Their conversation was safe and demure; no topic heavier than Blackwall’s row with Scout Harding over the correct way to hunt a Fennec. No mention was made of the Inquisitor’s active operations. The same as it had been for the past week.

The banality of their topics would have driven Dorian mad had it been any other week, but he found the easy conversation a welcome change from his dark and sobering thoughts.

Under the bright mountain sun, Dorian could almost imagine that the week previous had not happened and that it had all been a dream brought on from reading one of Varric’s tales. The absence of the small weight at his throat however, pulled at his mind and brought reality back all too quickly when he remembered the reason for it.

Dorian pushed the thought from his mind and focused back on what the Inquisitor was saying. The man had fallen silent for some time but had begun to speak once more though his words came out haltingly at first. “There is…a new mission for us on the Storm Coast.”

Alex’s words robbed Dorian of the warmth that had been growing inside the mage. The tingling of anxiety began at his fingertips and spread slowly up his arm, like frostbite attacking exposed skin in the dead of winter. He imagined the white ache curling around his heart and throat at the same time, coating each in a thick layer of dread that froze him in place.

Before Dorian could manage the words to say no, that he wouldn’t—couldn’t go, Alex had continued, "I thought I'd ask Solas to come along. He’s spoken of wanting to see new areas and the Storm Coast is like no other. We are to head out in the morning along with Blackwall, Bull, and Cole."

Dorian couldn’t be selfish. He's already letting Alex go without him he couldn’t ask the man—“Would you mind taking Sera instead?"

“Instead of Solas?” Alex quirked an eyebrow at Dorian’s words.

“Cole,” Dorian said, unwilling to explain just why he wanted the spirit-boy to remain at Skyhold.

How could he tell the Inquisitor that he had grown used to Cole appearing suddenly throughout the week with small things, not even gifts really just simple joys to bring Dorian a moment of comfort? The spirit-boy had a knack for appearing whenever Dorian’s thoughts drifted to the darkest corners of his mind and his body began to shake. But admitting that would be too much, would take this  _inconvenience_ (as Dorian called it) too far.

_Let the Inquisitor wonder. Let me have this one secret, please,_ Dorian begged silently, willing the man to understand without words as he so often did.  _Just a few days more and I’ll be over this. I swear it, amatus._

Alex offered a smile and nodded, but to the mage it appeared as if it pained the man to do so. "Cole never does like going with me if you're not there. Who else would gossip with him and fret over him like a mother hen?"

Dorian recognized the humor for what it was: a way for him to save face and his heart pulsed with adoration for the other man. "It's not gossip, Alex. Someone has to answer his questions and teach that boy how to be human. We can't leave it all up to Varric. We'd end up with another sarcastic liar in our midst if we did.”

“We can’t have that, now can we? I'll leave him in your capable hands then, Master Pavus.”

“You would know how capable these hands are, your worship,” Dorian teased, eager to get the conversation back on safer (and easier) terms, but Alex was not done.

“I'll be home in two weeks’ time at least.”

“So long?”

“There have been reports of darkspawn in the area. We need to see if they're true and take care of any entrances they might be coming out of.”

Darkspawn. Not the fiercest foe among their many enemies but the threat of their possible numbers tugged at Dorian’s conscience.

_He’ll be fine. He’s taking Blackwall with him and that man would never let a darkspawn get within blade’s distance to Alex,_ Dorian reassured himself. It worked, marginally, but a creeping sense of failure tickled the back of his mind nonetheless.

“Be careful, amatus.”

“Always am, Dorian. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting, after all.”

 

***

 

The Inquisitor left early the next morning with his chosen party and a small force of soldiers Cullen wished to send north to bolster their holdings and proved extra protection for the Inquisitor. Dorian knew this not because he was down at the gate to see the man off but because he watched the small party leave Skyhold from the Inquisitor’s balcony.

He watched the party until the last soldier disappeared down the path and went back inside to fetch a new set of clothes from his room. The spare set of robes he kept in the Inquisitor’s rooms was currently being handled by the keep’s seamstress as it was in need of repair and cleaning.

Dorian walked the familiar path to his own room overlooking the garden. While the mage rarely slept in the small bed within, almost all of his assets were still kept within the room. His remaining robes, staffs, and near endless supply of nugskin notebooks filled with notes and diagrams were laid out over the room, each put away in its proper place by Dorian’s own hand.

He tugged on his dark green Everknit wool robe, fingering the rough material for a moment when he settled it in place. Alex had gifted him the robe soon after he had joined the Inquisition all those months ago in Haven.  Dorian remembered that he had balked when presented with the rough weave of the material so unlike the silks he was used to wearing.

It was not a robe that he would have picked out for himself, but he had not chosen it. The Inquisitor had given it to him when he had still been nothing more than that “Evil Bastard Tevinter” who sometimes helped Adan in the apothecary. Yet the Herald had procured him a new robe, one that would “stand up to the demons we fight and not just the nobles in Val Royeaux,” as Alex had said with a brilliant smile.

Dorian hadn’t the heart to inform the Free Marches’ noble that the rustic weave would never have been within twenty leagues of the Orlesian city let alone on one of its citizens. But as he had turned the fabric over in his hands, a ball of warmth had blossomed in his gut and had not diminished since, only growing fiercer as his time with Alexander grew. Perhaps that was the moment Dorian had fallen in love with the man.

_It took a while for the rest of me to catch up._

With a smile, Dorian left his room in search of food and feeling far lighter than he had since Alex announced that he was leaving.

 

***

 

Dorian had known what joining the Inquisition could entail even if he had not taken it as seriously as he should have. Death had seemed a far off concept to him, something that happened to those without enough power to change their fate but now he could see that he was wrong. Coming to terms with his near death and new found limitations had not been easy and he would not have been able to without the help of Cole and the Inquisitor’s own actions.

The sixteen days spent with Cole in the Inquisitor’s absence had made him see that he could not let the incident define him or stop him from doing what was right and fighting on in spite of his fears. Cole, in his typical blunt and invasive manner, had rooted out the problems from his mind and laid them bare before the mage. The spirit-boy meant well and truth be told, if he hadn’t spoken so bluntly, Dorian would have brushed Cole’s words aside and continued to ignore the problems. Running way from things was far easier than confronting them, as Dorian well knew.

Even Alex’s deference in the days following the dragon’s attack had helped in their own way. The man had not pushed Dorian to speak about the ordeal and had accepted Dorian’s attempts to keep their interactions away from any such topics. At the time it had been what the mage wanted, but it had not been what he needed.

Dorian was not the same man that had watched Alexander walk from Skyhold’s gate from the safety of the balcony, but nor was he the man who had first approached the man in Redcliffe’s Chantry. He was changed and he would make the other man see that.

Alex could not  _coddle_ him any longer. Dorian had had enough, and he intended to tell Trevelyan so that tonight.

When the ninth evening bell chimed, Dorian made his way up the Inquisitor’s staircase with steady steps. He reached the man’s door and offered two short raps to the wooden surface then pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.

“Dorian,” Alex said, his muscled form hunched over the desk situated in the corner of the room.

His red hair was a disaster with finger trails messing the locks into a heap atop the man’s head. The sight was endearing and had it been any other night Dorian would have walked over, perhaps sat on the desk headless of the reports scattered atop it, and combed the strands into order.

As it was, Dorian walked over with sure footsteps to stand before the man’s desk. It would not do to simply start accusing the man and deriding his behavior over the past month. Dorian owed him better than that and he paused to consider how to begin the conversation.

Headless of Dorian’s internal debate, the Inquisitor continued talking while bending over to work on his reports. “You missed out on one of Sera’s more impressive rants. Apparently she had never been that far north before and hadn’t expected the amount of rain we would experience at the _Storm_ Coast. She threatened to shoot an arrow in my knee if I ever took her there again.”

The man’s lips twisted funnily at that, as if indulging in some private joke that Dorian should know as well. The mage filed it away as something to look into later. For the moment, he had one intention in mind and he would not be swayed from it.

“I need to talk to you, Alexander.” The use of the man’s full name brought Trevelyan up short. The Inquisitor’s blue eyes flickered over to the mage, a flash of unease sparking in their depths.

As if knowing that the conversation would be more than idle chatter, Alex nodded down to his reports with an apologetic smile. “Of course, Dorian, but if it could wait, I need to finish—“

“It cannot.”

The mage knew that the reports on the Inquisitor’s desk were for the latest round of missions to be discussed at the War Table. Just as certainly Dorian knew that Cullen could handle the table the next day. He had asked the man personally to see to the task earlier that afternoon when the mage cornered the man after lunch.

The general had agreed, stating that no current operation required the Inquisitor’s immediate attention. 

“It will keep,” the man had said.

_This,_ Dorian knew,  _would not._

It would fester in Dorian’s gut the longer he let it sit idle until it burst from him in an act beyond his control. Words would spill from his mouth that would only hurt Alexander without his hand to guide them. Far better that Dorian take control of it now.

“I—I, of course. Um. Here?” Alex’s blue eyes were wide, his eyebrows startled into rising. The man’s shoulders had dropped as well and he looked unsure how to react to Dorian’s statement.

“The chaise if you would.” He would not have this conversation over the man’s desk as if he were a messenger reporting in to the Inquisitor. This was a personal matter and it needed more intimate surroundings than a desk covered with political and military operations.

Alex stood and walked over to the piece of furniture set before the fire. He did not take his eyes from the mage the entire time.

Dorian only spoke when the two were seated on the padded chaise in front of the fire. He sat close enough to the other that their knees could knock together if either moved. Dorian made no such attempt.

The mage glanced at the other from the corner of his eye and felt a flicker of guilt alight in his chest. Alex’s face had become quite pale since he had sat down and the bright hue of his eyes stood out against the lighter shade. Dorian’s goal was not to frighten the other man no matter how upset he was with his actions so he nudged his knee close to Alex’s. The small contact was the least he could do to pull Trevelyan back from whatever ledge he thought himself on.

“You’re probably wondering about my behavior,” Dorian began. He was unsure how to begin the conversation for all that he knew what he wanted to say.

“A bit,” Alex said and tried for a joke, “I don’t think I’ve seen you in such a mood since Josephine declined your petition for a soiree.”

“It is warranted, I assure you,” Dorian said, his voice rising in anger at Alex’s attempt at levity. He bit his tongue to stem any further words.

_Focus Dorian, control it,_ Dorian thought. His mind reached back to a saying from his first tutor years ago in Tevinter, _“Do not let your emotions get the best of you, child. It is not only the demons in the Fade that we must watch out for, but the ones we make as well.”_

He took a shaky breath in through his nose but was cut off from continuing by Alex.

“Have I done something to offend you?”

_How can you not know?_  a part of him raged in response. But no, that wasn’t fair to the other man. He could not read Dorian’s mind or his thoughts as much as he seemed to at times. In the end, Trevelyan was a just man and could only understand if Dorian explained it to him.

_Forget being fair,_ the same part said,  _this isn’t about being fair, it’s about_ me _._

That drew Dorian up short. That line of thought was not the Dorian of late, wasn’t even the Dorian who had first joined the Inquisition. It was the remnants of the child he had been when he first left Tevinter. The one who had not seen his former mentor led away in chains and his closest friend fall to the Blight; who had not met a desperate man in a tavern who only wished to reconnect in an attempt years late but one made nevertheless; who had not fallen in love with the selfless man that was Alexander Trevelyan.

Dorian took another breath in through his nose and steadied himself before he spoke. “You have treated me as if I were made of glass this past month and in the beginning it was…” Dorian trailed off. “Forgive me if I have misled you, but now it is simply ridiculous.”

“I…see.” The man didn’t deny it and must have realized what he had been doing even before Dorian pointed it out. Alex drew his hands together in a tight clasp and rested his elbows on his thighs as if bracing for Dorian’s next words.

“I do not begrudge you your bleeding heart, amatus.” He stroked a finger over the man’s clasped hands then drew away.

“Then…?” it was obvious the man was unwilling to put words into Dorian’s mouth.

“You need to know that I have come to understand something about myself in your absence.”

Alex merely nodded in response.

“Since the dragon—“ he heard Alex’s sharp intake of breath through his nose. It was the first time either had mentioned the beast aloud since the incident, at least between themselves. Dorian and Cole had talked of little else the past week. “-I have acted poorly, shaming myself as a mage and as your lover. I ignored what happened and sought to talk and think of anything else. I’m afraid I failed rather spectacularly on the latter.

“Coming so close to dying…it’s a feeling I cannot describe and I would not want to burden you with it even if I could find the words. Terrible is the simplest way to put it. But because of it I have found something about myself that frightens me in the same breath it empowers me.”

Dorian bit his lip in a moment of weakness. He had never committed this feeling to words before. Cole did not need them to understand, had merely latched onto the emotions attributed to them and smiled with such joy that Dorian had been helpless to do anything but laugh in similar happiness. But that had been days ago in the courtyard several floors below them. Now, facing the Inquisitor in the privacy of his own room, Dorian was unsure how to make the man understand in the same way.

_If I love him, I will find a way_ . That thought alone emboldened him enough to continue speaking, “I will face death a thousand times if it means standing at your side once more as an equal. Helping people, saving them, but more importantly, protecting you.”

“Dorian,” Alex began carefully, his slow tone catching the mage’s attention. “I just think it might be too soon for you to rejoin us in the field. It wasn’t that long ago—“

The mage jumped to his feet in outrage. He towered over the seated Trevelyan and clenched his fists in anger and helplessness.

“It was long enough.” The man meant well, Dorian knew that, but damn him if his concern wasn’t misplaced at the moment.  _Alex wasn’t getting it._

“I will not sit by while the world falls to chaos,” Dorian snapped. “I am not some fragile circle mage, Inquisitor. I am a Tevinter Altus and I will not fail you again.”

“Fail me?” Alex said his voice small in a way Dorian had never heard before. “Dorian, you have never—“

“I have.” Dorian sat once more. He was not a lion that paced when tracking its prey and Alex was no prey of his. “I swore that I would protect you, remember? I can’t do that from the safety of Skyhold nor would I want to. My place in this war is where it has always been: at your side.”

Silence met the mage’s word. In the quiet he could hear his own harsh breathing and the crackle of flames from the fireplace before them, but he heard nothing from Alex. It was as if the man had become a statue, turned to stone from Dorian’s honest words.

Just when Dorian was beginning to fear that Alex had not heard a word he said, the man spoke.

“Your place has not changed, Dorian,” Alex said and reached out for Dorian’s hand. “I just worry for you. I don’t want you pushing yourself to rejoin us only to get hurt once more.”

That stung. Dorian was able to push down the well of hurt that Alex’s words inspired in his gut to see to the heart of them.  Trevelyan was trying, in his typical fashion, to look after those under his protection by choosing the safest path for them. But Dorian wasn’t some recruit new to the Inquisition or war. He was a man who had shed his fair share of blood. That some of it had come at the hands of a dragon’s attack did not change things.

“Lord Inquisitor” Alexander Trevelyan may be, but Dorian Pavus was fully capable of deciding his own fate.

“I am a grown man, Alex. I can decide for myself when I am able to fight.” Dorian stood once more, unable to keep still with his emotions practically thrumming through his veins. “I did not tell you this to ask for your permission but because you, as my lover, deserved to know.”

He knew what the other man could do at this moment. Alex could call Dorian out and remind the mage just who was in charge within the walls of Skyhold, personal relationships be damned. Remind Dorian that he had the final say in who accompanied him on his missions to the far reaches of Orlais and Ferelden. If the man said that, Dorian wasn’t quite sure what he would do.

“Is it so wrong for me to worry for you?” The words were quiet but Dorian could hear the heartbreak in the man’s voice despite his volume. It made his next words all the harder to say.

“You need to decide if what you’re doing is truly worry or an attempt to control what I do.”

Alex’s head shot up at that. Where before he had been gazing at the fireplace, now his attention was focused entirely on the mage. Alex stood from the couch and reached out for Dorian’s wrist, the touch pleading for the mage to understand but still so achingly gentle in its pressure. Even when desperate, Alex would not hurt the mage. “That’s not true!”

Something in Dorian relaxed at the confession, a knot unraveling in his shoulders that he hadn’t even known was there until it was gone, but the problem remained. While Alex may have felt that what he was doing was born from concern, Dorian could not help but feel that it also had to deal with the man’s instinct to protect another at all costs, even against their own wishes. His role as leader of the Inquisition had only feed into that nature and taken it to the extreme.

Dorian reached out to run his hand through the hair at the man’s temple, the fine red strands slipping through his fingers like silk. “It is.”

Alex’s mouth dropped open to argue further or defend himself; Dorian merely ran his hand over the man’s hair once more to stem his words. The soothing motion worked and Alex closed his mouth if slowly. “I am not speaking to my Inquisitor when I say this but to my lover, Alex.”

A chocked off sound came from the man’s throat but he seemed to know better than speak carelessly at that moment.

“I’ll give you time to think it over.” The mage gently extracted his wrist from Alex’s now lax fingers, removing their final point of contact. “Come find me when you’re ready.”

“Where will you be?”

“My quarters,” with that Dorian descended the staircase and made his way to his own room.

 

***

 

Dorian awoke to his mattress dipping from an additional weight behind him.

He panicked when warmth pressed against his back and an arm corded with muscle wrapped around his waist. The brief flash of green in the dark room signaled just who had wormed their way into his bed.  “Alex.”

“I will not lose you, Dorian.” The words were muffled against the skin of the mage’s nape and the accompanying hot gust of air tickled the fine hairs there.

Despite just being woken, Dorian felt a headache brewing. He reached down to the arm Alex had cast over his waist and attempted to pull it away, but the man held firm.

“Alexander,” Dorian began frustrated at the other man’s actions.

“But I will not lose you to my own pride and fears before the blade of an enemy.”

Dorian fell silent, his grip on Alex’s wrist faltering at the admission. Hope swelled in his chest at the sincere words but he dared not to say anything lest he have misunderstood Alexander’s words.

“There is a request from Crestwood for aid in dealing with the remaining rifts,” Alex said. The man’s lips brushed against Dorian’s nape with each word and the mage could not control the shiver the touch elicited. “I wish you to come with me.”

A relieved laugh escaped from Dorian’s throat at that.

He managed to roll over in Alex’s arms despite the tight grip Trevelyan had on him. Their chests brushed against one another and Dorian let out a pleased hum at the warmth that filled him from the contact. The mage slipped his own arms around Alex’s waist and pulled the larger man towards him, aided by Trevelyan shifting closer of his own accord.

Even in the dark he found Alex’s mouth, stumbling only once when his lips brushed against the man’s chin before landing on his lower lip. He pushed into the contact with a chocked off groan that was echoed in Alex’s own throat. Alex responded with the same level of desire, slipping his tongue in Dorian’s mouth in a slow stroke.

Dorian barely managed to pull back far enough to gasp, “of course” against the man’s lips before dipping down to kiss him once more.

Their problems weren’t fixed, not entirely, but it was a wonderful start.

 

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long live the Hinterlands 2k15
> 
> you know how you pass soldiers on the bridges in the Exalted Plains and Emprise du Lion? and they salute and say "hello Inquisitor" and you think 'sweet, new area' and then you die a painful death? Yeah. Also, I refuse to believe that the soldiers at Dusklight didn't now that a /high dragon/ was ten feet away from them so I added the excavated tunnel bit.


	3. ACT III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breaking Point

Dorian had spent the better part of the day hunting the Inquisitor throughout Skyhold, always one step behind the busy man. If nothing else, Dorian realized just how much work Alex managed to cram into a single day and how many circuits the Inquisitor made of the Keep. Last count had the total at two every hour.

A tip off from a harried Cassandra and Dorian finally tracked Alex down to the man’s quarters late in the evening. The hunt had been motivated by a single goal: to rid them of the final awkwardness that still lingered from the encounter with the dragon.

The pair had been utterly chaste over the past week, no more intimate than the earliest days of their relationship. But more than the lack of physicality was the newfound emotional distance Alex created between them. While the man had promised to treat Dorian no differently, it seemed Alex had problems implementing his own promise.

While Trevelyan no longer treated Dorian as if the mage were made of glass and viable to shatter at any moment, Alex had picked up a new, and maddening, hobby. He would constantly cast furtive glances towards the mage only to look away when Dorian caught his gaze. What’s more, he often grew quiet during their conversations, eyes a world away and seeing something that was beyond the mage.

The changes unnerved Dorian, wound his every muscle in tension, and drove him to the edge. Drawn out over a week, they had proven to be his breaking point. Tonight he planned to confront Alex. In his own way.

Dorian eased the door to the Inquisitor’s chambers open close to the ninth evening bell. With slow, measured steps he ascended the stair case and cast about for his lover.

Alexander was at his desk, utterly absorbed in the latest batch of reports even though he was dressed in his sleepwear. For once Dorian wanted nothing more than to pull the man away from the Inquisition and its demands. A selfish desire, he knew, but one he had been helpless to fight at that moment. For once, they were more important than paperwork.

Dorian stalked towards Alex with swaying hips and all the grace he commanded.

 _A hunt indeed,_ Dorian thought as he prowled closer.

He perched on the edge of the heavy desk and leaned far into Alexander’s personal space with a smirk dancing along his lips.

Alex looked up with a quirked brow and a question on his lips, “Can I help you, Dorian?”

“Oh, there is something you can _help,”_ Dorian purred the word and felt his eyelids drop with practiced flirtatious ease, “with, amatus.”

He swayed Alexander with sweet words and teasing caresses to pull the man away from his desk. After that it was easy to convince the man to abandon his papers for far more pleasurable distractions.  The mage could be very convincing after all.

A little over an hour later, the fire was slowly dying in the mantle and the balcony doors were latched against the cold night air, containing all noises to the Inquisitor's rooms. Maker knew how loud the two of them got when lost in one another.

Dorian breathed in deep and relaxed further into the feather mattress beside his lover, the comfortable atmosphere of the Inquisitor’s quarters soothing the last of his tension away.

Suddenly, Alex spoke.

“If I wished to pursue you, would you allow it?" Alex said, voice slurring on the “s’s”. “Would you stay here?”

Dorian, awash in the glow of the pleasure from the kisses (and more) Alex had given, only hummed in response. Sated for the moment and lounging atop the sheets next to Alex, Dorian had never been more content. He shuffled over to slide a leg across the man's hips and slowly moved atop him.

Dorian braced his forearms beside Alex’s head to hover over the other man, dropping brief kisses to the soft skin beneath his chin.

"That’s not an answer, Dorian,” Alex said. His hands rose to hold onto the mage’s bare shoulders in his customary gentle grasp. Even half gone from pleasure and moments after orgasm, Alexander was nothing but reverent with the mage.

The reminder of their bout just moments prior stirred Dorian’s arousal and his stomach clenched in anticipation. Another round sounded perfect.

Dorian let out another absentminded hum and leaned in to kiss Alex on the lips. A hand on his chest stopped him. The mage glanced down at the man sprawled beneath, taking in the blue eyes that stared steadily up at him from the man's lower position.

"Dorian. Would you allow it?"

 _Why was he being so obstinate about this?_ Dorian thought. _It hardly matters right now._

From Dorian’s experience, lying naked in bed with another man after a round of sex was hardly the place for questions on courtship. But pleasure had a way of sending words from lips that closely guarded their secrets; had a way of pulling frivolous thoughts of fancy from deep inside and laying them bare.

 _A distraction, then,_ Dorian decided. If Alex’s words were truly the result of the endorphins flooding the man’s body, Dorian would rather avoid the coming sobriety and awkwardness an answer would cause.

When the mage tried to kiss Alex again to do just that, the Inquisitor pushed back against the advance. His hands locked against the mage’s shoulders and kept Dorian suspended above the man. Even with the man’s growing arousal trapped between them and alongside Dorian’s own, the man kept his steady blue eyes trained on Dorian for his answer.

Dorian shifted on his elbows to resettle his weight over the man and hummed in pleasure when it caused his cock to rub against Alex’s. Even that did not clear the determination from Alexander’s blue eyes. It seemed he would not continue without an answer.

 _Perhaps he truly means it?_ Dorian thought with an accompanying flutter in his throat.

While he thought, Dorian ran a hand through the man’s red locks, fingering the fine strands and combing them into some semblance of order.

 _A hard task given how the man trashed about when taken,_ Dorian thought and was distracted once more by the image it produced and the flicker of lust it sent down his groin.

In a final burst of lucidity, the mage pulled his attention back to the question at hand. It was a difficult task given the very distracting body beneath him. Mind already half-gone from an orgasm and the potential of further pleasure, Dorian was hardly in a spot to think logically on the matter. As it was, he answered instinctively, a possibility that would have sent a sober Dorian Pavus running.

Dorian ducked down, pressing insistently against the man’s hold to close the distance between their faces. Never one to truly deny the mage, Alex bent his arms with the movement even while a frown pulled at his mouth.

In response, Dorian brushed a kiss over the slight downturn at the corner of Alex’s lips and dragged his lips over Alex’s cheek to his ear.

"I would."

Alex’s next gasp could have come from either Dorian’s answer or the fact that the mage had trailed his tongue over the shell of the man’s ear.

Alexander’s hands scrabbled at the mage’s back, blunt nails vying for traction against the smooth skin and digging into the muscles when none could be found. In response, Dorian arched his spine in a sharp curve, seeking more contact where Alex’s hips cradled his own.

“Dorian, _Dorian,_ ” the man said the name like a prayer and for the rest of the night that was all he said in response to the mage’s actions. It filled the mage’s ears and washed away all else in his mind, even his previous words as he sought to bring Alex the greatest pleasure possible. If a kernel of warmth remained in his chest, then Dorian merely explained it away as a symptom of lust.

 

***

 

Dorian woke the next morning with pleasure laden limbs and a warm glow lingering in his gut. The mage spread out over the large Orlesian bed in a languorous stretch, arching against the soft sheets until his back let out a satisfying crack. He fell back against the feather mattress with a grunt.

He twisted his head in a slow roll, left then right, in search of Alex. The sheets were cool and the room empty save for himself, and Dorian felt a flicker of sorrow replace the warm feeling in his chest. The sudden absence, however, made him cast his mind back to what had caused the warmth in the first place.

Stretched over the decadent bed in the Inquisitor's quarters, the doors to the balconies thrown open to invite the fresh mountain air into the room, and the sheets under him still warm from the night previous Dorian couldn’t order his thoughts in the comfortable haze that had settled over him.

He cast his mind back over the previous night’s events, pushing past the delicious curl of pleasure that awoke to find the root of the warmth.  The memories hit him like a punch to the gut, winding him and sending his eyes wide.

_Blue eyes, bright even in the dying light of the fire, stared raptly into Dorian’s own. Alex sprawled underneath the mage and bare from the chest down, his white nightshirt rucked up until it bunched under his clavicle. The man’s skin was spotted with sweat and flushed a dark pink, his chest rising and falling in great heaves that caused his dusky nipples to brush against Dorian’s chest. Their bodies winding down from the pleasure they had experienced moments before in slow movements._

_It was a sensual image made all the sweeter for the open look upon Alexander’s face as he asked, “If I wished to pursue you, would you allow it?”_

The mage sucked in a breath of air, the cool temperature of it sending needles and an ache into his lungs. It almost matched the sudden ache in his heart.  

 _Had Alex…had the man asked to court him?_ The thought was ludicrous but the spike of want it caused in his chest was not. Dorian brought a hand up to his suddenly galloping heart, pressing his palm flat against his sleep warmed skin.

Did he want that? To be tied to Alexander? Another memory crept into his mind and it took him a moment to recognize the voice as his own, so gone from pleasure that it was nearly incomprehensible.

 _“I would_.”

The words were just as true in the morning even when the veneer of pleasure was gone from his mind. It was a foolish thought given Alex’s status as Inquisitor and Dorian’s own label as the “Evil Tevinter Magister” especially within a force that relied heavily upon its reputation.

That Alex had asked to court him now of all times was—unlikely and more than likely just Dorian projecting his wants onto the other man’s words.

_But if I am not…_

He would only get answers by confronting the man about it and so he pulled on his clothes from yesterday, tugging the leather under armor on with ease even when his mind was elsewhere. He fixed his hair, ensuring that every lock was in place, and shaved the light stubble on his cheeks in the Inquisitor’s water basin.

Less than twenty minutes later, Dorian was closing the door behind him and making his way carefully down the main staircase. Hopefully it would be early enough that no one would notice his entrance from the Main Hall’s back door—the Inquisitor’s door.

Luck was with the mage for once. The hall was far less crowded than usual and none reacted to his entrance. As Dorian closed the heavy door, the keep's bell chimed the hour and he softly counted the bells under his breath: eight.

 _No wonder the hall is so bare_. The nobles wouldn't be awake for another hour yet while the majority of the Inquisition's forces had already been in motion for an hour. Despite this, Dorian was pleased to see that the long tables running the length of the room were still laden down with platters of meats, fruits, eggs, and breadstuffs for the morning meal.

A few clusters of senior soldiers were scattered around the tables talking in soft voices while messengers and Leliana's agents wound around the chairs to find their intended targets.

Dorian glanced half-heartedly around the hall for a flash of red and spotted the Inquisitor at one of the tables near the hall's entrance. He started at the sight. Dorian had expected that he would not be able to find the man until well into the afternoon as Alex rarely lingered in the Main Hall after seven. He thought he would have more time to gather his thoughts before he brought them before Alex.

 _Time to, as the Southerners say, ‘take the Druffalo by the horns’, Pavus._ With that emboldening thought, Dorian approached the long table and pulled out the chair across from the Inquisitor rather than the unoccupied seat beside the man.

Alexander looked up from his plate, a warm smile gracing his features. The mage tried to discern if there was something new to the soft look.  Dorian wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was looking for. He had never before been in a situation such as this—in Tevinter or otherwise.

“Good morning, Dor.” Though Alex usually refrained from using the endearment when in crowded places, its use did not speak of a sudden desire on the man’s part to court Dorian.

Dorian nodded and sat down with a forced casualness he was sure Alexander would see through in a heartbeat. He was at a loss for how to breach the topic. Dorian had thought to ask Alex outright if what he remembered had truly occurred, but his courage fled him.

 _It would be far safer to remain silent_ , Dorian reasoned. If he was wrong, then he would have to explain his thoughts even though he had little grasp on what he wanted. The idea of courting aroused conflicting thoughts of want and fear in his mind that made little sense to himself. Having to formulate them in a way in which Alexander would understand seemed impossible.

Suddenly, asking the man about the night previous seemed an unwise decision, one that would lead to embarrassment on either party’s side or an awkwardness that would dog their relationship and perhaps cause it to end.

That thought alone sealed Dorian’s decision and his lips.

“A very fine one now that it has you in it, amatus,” Dorian replied with a cheer he did not feel, hoping Alex wouldn’t comment on their delay. But Dorian was a noble from the Tevinter Imperium; he could hide his concerns from the outside world, even from his lover, with a simple smirk and flirty words.

Alexander shook his head at the mage but his smile remained in place as he said, “Such a thing to say.”

Dorian pulled a decanter towards him and barely hid his frown at the sight of water and not wine inside the silver pitcher. A strong drink, even at the early hour, would have been far more preferable but he would make do.

Dorian glanced up from the pitcher to take in the other man from beneath his lashes. Alexander, headless to Dorian’s internal strife, was making his way steadily through the meats and fruits piled high atop his plate.

As if sensing the mage’s eyes on him, Alex looked up from under his own dark lashes and a much softer smile crossed his lips. Dorian felt his mouth part of its own volition in an instinctual response to the openness in the man’s features but he bit his tongue in time to stop the words from escaping.

When Alex’s look changed from one of contentment to confusion after a few seconds of mindless staring on the mage’s part, Dorian let his own mouth fall into an easy smile that brought a flush of color to the Inquisitor’s cheeks. Still Dorian said nothing.

When Alex did not bring the matter up over breakfast, Dorian let the matter lie and instead enjoyed his rare time with Alexander that morning. Fancies were one thing, but the reality of Alexander’s company was far more preferable to the mage.

A week later, the notion of courtship had become a small thought in the back of his mind, eclipsed by the much more immediate concerns of fighting Corypheus and ending his spreading influence across Thedas. That Alex himself had not brought the matter up in all that time was noted by Dorian and so he did not peruse the matter.

Then Alexander gave him a ring.

 

***

 

Alex approached him early in the evening when Dorian was on the way to his quarters above the garden.

Dorian smirked and leaned against the stone wall outside his door, anticipating another of their frequent bouts of flirting. Instead Alexander, in a soft tone, requested the mage’s presence in his rooms.

The man’s hands were carefully tucked behind his back in a facsimile of what Dorian dubbed his “Inquisitor” pose.

Confused, the mage had agreed and followed the man through the keep to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Once inside he had been directed to the chaise along the railing. Dorian sat down and blinked owlishly at his lover for a moment.

 _This is quite different from our past encounters,_ Dorian thought.

Typically, Alexander would bashfully bolder his way through propositioning the mage for an evening alone. After teasing the man into a deeper flush, Dorian would agree and they would hasten through Skyhold to Alexander’s bed. The slow walk through the lower stairways and now, seated on a chaise and not the bed, was leagues different from what Dorian was used to.

He could not tell if the change excited him or unnerved him.

 _The latter,_ he decided watching Alexander pace before him. The man walked in slow circles in front of the mage. His boots would come within inches of Dorian’s own before drawing away again.

All the while, his left hand remained buried within his coat pocket. The sight was a faint echo of those weeks ago on the battlements when Alex had given him the broach.

 _Yet not the same at all,_ Dorian mused. There was an edge, a tension in this moment that had not existed back then.

Unnerved by the silence Dorian spoke, “Amatus—“

“—I have something for you,” Alex said at the same time, his back to the mage. He turned around, a surprised lift to his eyebrows at the coincidence.

A smile crossed Alex’s features, the left corner of his mouth pulling a tad crooked from the scar on his cheek. With a breathy laugh the man seated himself beside Dorian on the chaise. He shifted across the seat to settle closer to the mage. Then, he tucked his feet behind one another, switching them twice before Dorian intervened.

“Amatus,” Dorian repeated bemused. He reached out with a hand to press Alex’s knees down and stem their movement. Alex’s restless actions were doing little to settle the growing unease in his gut.

“Sorry, Dor,” Alex said with a nervous flit of his lips. Despite his words, the man fidgeted a minute longer before standing before the mage once more.

“I know it’s not typical, but I...well, I think you’ll approve,” Alex said with a soft smile.

“Typical?” Dorian repeated in confusion unconsciously rising to stand beside Alex. What was Alexander talking about?

Before Dorian could ask further, the man removed his hand from his inner breast pocket. Rather than withdrawing a small box, Alexander kept his hand in a tight fist around the object for a moment longer. Then he laid his hand out flat in front of the mage.

Dorian could do little but blink down uncomprehendingly at the small piece of circular stone upon Alexander’s palm. The band was made of a smooth, dark stone streaked with dashes of bronze that Dorian could not tell the origin of. A pale green crystal grew out from the band in uneven ridges as if it had once been a single piece of stone whittled down into the shape of—

“A ring?” that was… not a present one gave lightly, not even to a lover.

 _Maybe things are different in Ostwick?_ Dorian reasoned and tried to keep his mind focused when his heart had sped up at the sight of the ring.

“Of our intent,” Alex replied evenly, as if Dorian already knew what he was talking about and just needed a small reminder.

Dorian flicked his eyes up to gauge Alexander’s expression and found it open and laced with the honesty and earnestness that was characteristic of the man.

 _He cannot be suggesting what I think, right?_ Dorian thought in a panic and with a flicker of something he could not identify. In his panic his mind began to race to what had to be improper conclusions. _Free Marches, like Orelsians, like Tevinters, propose in grand manners—lights, music, grand settings, and_ then _the ring. This is just—_

“I thought it suited you,” Alex said evenly though his fingers had begun to curl around the ring the longer Dorian stared at it without comprehension and no small amount of shock. “And it symbolizes my intent perfectly.”

Dorian’s hands fell to his sides in shock. A faint tingling began in the tips of his fingers the longer he stared down at the ring. “I don’t understand. What is there to show intent for?”

Alex’s fingers clamped down upon the ring, his expression falling as he began to realize that the situation was well beyond whatever he had expected. “Dorian, I know you like your jokes but this is—“

“I do not know _what_ this is, Alex,” Dorian said, frustration leaking into his tone. The hope and unease rolling in his gut became an intoxicating mix. “That’s the problem.”

Alex frowned. His brows were no more than a solid red line above his troubled blue eyes when he said, “Our courtship.”

“What.”

“Perhaps that is presumptuous of me,” Alex said with a fierce blush. His unoccupied hand tugged at his sleeve in embarrassment that was matched by the bashful expression on his face. “You haven’t said yes, after all.”

“I never agreed to court you,” Dorian’s confusion made him speak plainly and perhaps too bluntly given Alexander’s look of hurt.

“You did, Dorian,” Alex said though he sounded far less certain than earlier.

“When, exactly, did I agree to this?”

“The night I asked if I could pursue you.”

“What,” Dorian began before a flood of memories hit him: the hazy aftermath of sex and a moment of honesty that only occurred when the mind could not interfere with the body. He had written it off and all but forgotten about it in the days since. Only the faintest throb of hope had persisted in his gut.

Dorian could only gape at Alex in bewilderment for a moment before replying, “You didn’t do a thing about it the next morning. I figured it was all a dream.”

“I didn’t, no,” Alex began. The man’s hesitation over his words tipped Dorian off and caused the mage’s spine to straighten. “I thought we were in agreement.”

"No,” Dorian said jumping down the others throat as he tried to hedge the problem. “That’s not why.” The unspoken “tell the truth” clouded the air between the two men.

“I was afraid that if I mentioned it you would deny it,” Alex said.

“So you would trick me into a courtship?” Dorian began outraged but Alexander had already taken two steps to hold onto the mage’s forearms. Faintly, Dorian felt the cold press of the stone band on his bare forearm, the jagged crystal on top surely leaving red marks on both of their skins from how tightly Alexander held on.

“No, never,” Alex began frantically. “I didn’t say that right. Please, let me try again.”

Dorian felt his nose curl at the man’s words. He allowed Alex a short nod to continue. That was the best he could offer.

“You are so skittish about our relationship, Dorian,” Alex began.

“So this is my fault?” Dorian interjected, unable to hold his words back.

“No!” Alex stared at Dorian beseechingly, blue eyes focused on the mage’s own pale pair. Though usually so in control over his words as the Inquisitor, Alex fumbled through them when he next spoke. “You act as if you are-are ashamed of our relationship. Whenever anyone asks you about it, you never admit it. It’s always jokes, sarcasm, and misdirection with you.”

“My sensibility was the reason you thought you had to trick me?” Dorian said. He felt slighted by Alexander’s words, true though they might be. But that was to others. He had never lied to his lover before, not about them. “So you thought I would lie to you? About something this important?”

“I just assumed—“

“That is not the only assumption you have made.” Dorian finished each word with brutal clicks of his teeth. Now that the initial confusion had worn off he found a well of anger rising in his gut. He clenched his fists and held them at his sides to try and quell their shaking but he was unsuccessful.

Dorian took in a deep breath through his nose and held it for a count of ten, letting it out through his mouth slowly. It didn’t help. He decided to focus on the more immediate of their issues. “When exactly where you going to tell me we were courting?”

Trevelyan’s mouth was agape, the full lower lip dropped in shock at the vehemence in Dorian’s tone, the anger in his face.

“I-I thought you’d be pleased—“Alex said, stammering in uncertainty once more.

“You thought I’d be pleased by you singlehandedly deciding my future?” Dorian raged. The feelings of despair and anger rose in his gut and sent small electric surges arching along his clenched fists.

He clearly remembered the last time he had been so infuriated to lose control over his magic: when he had learned of his father’s machinations for the blood ritual. Back then it had not been harmless sparks of electricity. Fire had danced along his arms and scorched everything in his bedroom, turning his possessions to ash faster than the burnt bridge between himself and his father. A small part of Dorian calmed when he realized that he still had that much control, at least, over his magic.

“I didn’t. We talked of this, Dorian,” Alex said and Dorian noticed that the hand holding the ring had begun to shake. Therein lay the problem. If the man was to be believed, then he _had_ asked Dorian on the matter but then what was to be made of the day after? Or of the days since?

 _Perhaps he didn’t think it necessary?_  A small logical part of him said. Its voice soothed the maelstrom that was Dorian’s mind in increments. _Words do not come easily to him. He has always been a man of action when it came to our relationship._

The much larger and dominant part of his mind raged in response, _What kind of man does that?_

 _A man who has never been in a relationship before,_ the first voice said. _One who fumbles his way through with the best of intentions. A man much like yourself._

Dorian shook his head to rid his mind of the thought. No, it was far easier to fall into the fierce emotions rolling in his gut than to clear his mind and address the situation rationally. And hadn’t he the right to do so?

What did it matter that a small spark of hope had burned in his gut since that night, dream though Dorian had written thought it. What did it matter that some half-buried part of Dorian’s heart swelled with the knowledge that there was someone who loved him enough to want to acknowledge their relationship in the most public of ways? Who desired Dorian in every manner possible and still wished for _more._

No, all that mattered to Dorian in that moment was the sting of betrayal and fear that lanced through the mage’s gut at Alex’s actions. Fear of the unknown, of the known, and of Dorian himself.

“Certainly, that’s exactly what I need,” Dorian said. The small rational part of him watched in despair as he ruined everything. Backtracking and destroying everything in his wake; burning bridges faster than thought. “I left Tevinter to escape my father commandeering my future. Why would I be pleased to suffer another to do the same?”

“Suffer?” Alex said, voice small. “Is that how you truly feel?”

“To have another decide what is ‘best for me’?” Dorian said, throwing his father’s words back at the Inquisitor. The man’s flinch made it obvious that his message had been received. “I can think of no worse fate.”

“Dorian, please. I don’t understand. I thought you wanted this?” The unsaid “you agreed” hung heavily in the air between the two men. But that had been days ago and Alex’s silence on the matter had not helped him. What he thought they were in agreement upon was not so clear to Dorian.

Perhaps if Dorian had been a different man he would not be reacting as such to the situation. Perhaps if he had not lived and had relationships in Tevinter he would be rejoicing over the prospect of Alex courting him. Perhaps if there was not an outside world that judged, and whispered, and depended on Alexander then he would have said yes.

But that was not their world. As much as Dorian might wish it weren’t so, he was a man still deeply attached to his homeland—to the good and the bad. At that moment, he could not hear Alex’s sweet promise of a future over the voices that echoed in his mind and called the mage ‘deviant’ and ‘shameful’ and who derided him for seeking more.

Alexander and he had agreed on more, but this…Dorian was not ready for this. At that moment, he wanted to be as far away from the man as possible.

“This I don’t need,” Dorian said and he left.

 He couldn’t bear to look back as he strode down the staircase but he could imagine the scene in his mind nonetheless.

Alex would be standing where Dorian had left him with a face slacked by heartbreak and shock. He would curl around the ring, shoulders hunching in an attempt to appear small, but no man could diminish himself least of all the Inquisitor. Then, and Dorian saw this most clearly, had seen it occur more times than he could bear to count, Alex’s shoulders would straighten. He would clench his hand around the ring and bring both to rest at the small of his back, feet spread exactly a foot apart in perfect parade rest. The perfect leader once more.

He would show no sign that he had just had his heart torn out and trampled on by a Tevinter mage. One who lashed out when he felt threatened; no better than an animal in a situation beyond its comprehension, overwhelmed by love and fear and the pressing sense of being trapped.

 _Would it be so wrong to be courted by Alex?_ The thought brought the mage to a stop outside the door leading to the servants’ passageway to the Main Hall. The answer after his display should have been “yes”, but no matter how he tried the mage could not say it.

The hollow ache in his chest throbbed and the pressure behind his eyes only continued to grow. He ruthlessly dug his thumbs into them to stem the tears and push back the headache that was forming.

He changed course and walked down the servants’ stair that lead to the kitchens and the wine cellar.

 

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Trevelyan steps his foot right into it. Oh dear. This is also, apparently, the shortest act of them all. So it's like a condensed ball of angst and sorrow.
> 
> [Dorian's ring is based on this one](http://40.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2l34vnJGE1qbdn9bo1_500.jpg)
> 
> I have a headcanon that Dorian picks up all these cliché, hick idioms in Ferelden that he thinks are just ridiculous but loves anyway. It all started with Varric's 'Black sheep' comment and now Dorian hunts down new ones to pepper into his conversations. Everyone thinks he's making fun of them, but no, he just really loves them.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. ACT IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations do not come at the bottom of a bottle

On the third night after the failed proposal, Dorian got blindingly drunk within his room. He had thought to visit the Herald’s rest but had decided against such a public display. Word would undoubtedly spread about his and Alex’s fight despite its private setting. There was no need to show the rest of Skyhold the end result of their relationship. 

“Let them wonder.” Dorian punctuated the statement with a long draught from the bottle clutched in his hand. Two steady pulls finished the bottle and he tossed it towards the far corner of his room, the glass clacking and shattering against the stone tiles of the floor when it hit.

The cheap bourbon burnt his throat long after he swallowed but still it was not enough. He was tired of his thoughts, of his argument with Alex running on a never ending loop in his mind. Each repeat caused his throat to clench further in despair and his gut to burn with anger.

Dorian grabbed another bottle from the top of his dresser. He brought the neck to his lips and—

_“I thought you’d be pleased.”_

With a snarl he hurled the full bottle to the same corner. Even the second sharp clatter of glass on stone and the shards of the previous bottle was not enough for him. He wanted—he needed more.

 _Yes, destroy more things,_  crooned that small voice in his mind.  _Surely, you haven’t done enough of_ that _already._

He snarled again to drown out the voice and grasped for the nearest thing—an unlit candelabra—and hurled it at the painting over his bed. Both clattered down onto the neatly made bed. He had not needed it, passing out ignominiously on the floor of his room or in his chair in the library at night.  Dorian had had no desire to return to a room he had not slept in regularly since his earliest days in Skyhold. No, he had spent far more nights in Alexander’s—

“Kaffas!” he yelled, knocking into the chest at the foot of his bed with unsteady legs and falling to his knees on the bare stone. The sudden change in height sent his drunken mind spinning and an answering lurch in his gut threatened to send his evening meal back up.

With the conviction only the drunk have, Dorian dug his fingers into the wooden surface to ground himself, lowering his forehead to the corner when that did not work. His head knocked against a leather edge on the way down and his bleary eyes took in the pile of nug-skin notebooks inches away from his face.

_“You act as if you are-are ashamed of our relationship.”_

Dorian slammed his eyes shut and had a sudden desire to destroy something, to make the ordered world around him reflect in some small degree the turmoil raging in his mind.

With a strangled yell that was half a sob Dorian shoved the stack of books from the top and pried the heavy lid open. What little belongings he had were packed neatly into the cedar chest, every earthly possession in its place. The sight infuriated him.

Dorian dug into the chest, ripping its contents across his room. Staffs, notebooks, robes, bottles of lyrium; all were treated as if they were worthless.

He felt betrayed.

Enchanted runes, once encased in wooden boxes, were scattered across the floor like shattered glass, humming with energy when his hands passed over them.

He felt helpless.

With a snarl, Dorian threw a bundle of notebooks across the floor, his grasping hand alighting on its next target. Soft fur barely registered in his mind and it wasn’t until he had the entire object in front of himself that he realized what it was. His ram skin blanket, just as soft and downy as the day he first received it, was clenched between his hands.

The last time he had seen it, it had been in the Inquisitor’s quarters atop the chaise where Dorian had draped it one morning. It should have still been there. The mage had not gone back for it since…ending things with Alexander.

How it ended up at the bottom of his chest beneath all else he owned was beyond the mage. Alex would never have come into his room and gone through Dorian’s belongings just to return it; the man had not even approached the mage in three days. Dorian had a feeling a certain interfering spirit-boy had a hand in it. No one else knew where it was, after all.

Gazing down at the white material his mind went blank. His attention focused on to the soft texture of the fur against his aching fingers.

The first drop of water on his hands startled him. The second just as much. With a muffled sob he brought the blanket up, pressing the soft fur as close as possible. The fine strands clogged his nose, slipped into his mouth and choked him, but he didn’t draw the blanket away. He pressed it closer, shoulders hunching around his prize.

He didn’t know why he was crying. Or rather, he had too many reasons and none seemed right: because he missed Alex; because his lover had betrayed him (however unknowingly and kindly); because he had never felt so alone.

At that thought, Dorian lost whatever remained of his control.

Time lost all meaning as he cried into the blanket, his sounds muffled by the thick fur and escaping no further than his cocoon of hurt. His jaw ached from the effort of biting back the worst of them, but it was secondary to the pain in his heart. He wanted Alex there but knew that the sight of the man would be a further breaking point.

“You want and hurt so  _desperately_ ,” a voice said next to him. Dorian looked up in time to see Cole appear with a cloud of smoke. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t not come.”

The spirit-boy flickered nervously beside him, his fingers tearing at the bandages around thin palms. “I’m sorry—“

“You’ve said,” Dorian snapped with a clogged nose. He was in no mood to entertain company least of all Cole’s.

The spirit-boy continued as if Dorian had not spoken, “I didn’t bring anything to help. It was too much, too much. I couldn’t leave you alone, not even to get the sweets and gifts you adore.”

“I’ve had enough of gifts, thank you,” Dorian spat. He looked down at the object in his hands and grabbed two ends within his hands. The mage’s white knuckles were nearly lost amongst the pale color of the gift. Before he could pull, tear,  _rend_  the damn thing a pair of hands grabbed his own.

“Not that,” Cole said. His voice as firm as his grip, all ethereal quality lost to the command in his voice. A part of Dorian’s rankled at the tone, reared up to deny the spirit to the fullest extent of his pride. “You would regret it.”

“I would not.” It was meant to sound forceful, the words of a man who knew damn well what he wanted. It didn’t. He sounded like a child and the comparison only infuriated him further.

Dimly he was aware how out of control his thoughts and action were, knew that he should not have drank the bottle of brandy so quickly just as he knew he should not have taken his anger out on his possessions.  He was a child, throwing a tantrum no matter how justified. He thought himself better than this.

Had it been any one but Cole with him, he expected they would have called him out for his actions. Perhaps they would have snapped him out of it with harsh words or tough love. Cole did neither.

The spirit-boy reached out and pushed Dorian until the mage collapsed on top of his folded legs. Left side pressed against the edge of his bed, Dorian collapsed against the support with a bitten-off sob. The soft blanket pooled over his lap and he hated the comfort it brought.

He did not want it, but each attempt he made to throw it away (perhaps atop the puddle of spilled wine) was stopped by Cole’s strong hands pressing down on his own.

The sat in silence, a fact that surprised Dorian into speaking, “Have you no words for me, spirit?” he had  not addressed Cole as such in months and never with such derision.

Cole remained silent and Dorian felt his lip curl into a smirk. His skin felt tacky and tight where his tears had dried. He couldn’t control his hitching breath but forced himself to take long drags of air.

A snort. “That’s what I thou—“

“Dorian, you are more than hurting,” Cole said. His hands flited and flickered over Dorian’s, stilling the mage’s hands whenever he made a move to destroy the blanket.

Seated on the cold floor next to his bed, his head pounding in time with the throbbing ache in his jaw, Dorian didn’t believe him.

 

***

 

Dorian awoke to a splitting headache and cramped legs that stung with each shift of muscle. He was still slumped over the edge of his bed but Cole had pulled the blanket over him at some point in the night. He made no attempt to remove it.

Several rays of sunlight lanced through his window and landed just so over his eyes, blinding him. Dorian buried his face into the mattress with a whine to avoid the light. With a muffled string of Tevine he attempted to gather himself.

His room was silent save for his breathing, the rest of Skyhold shut out with thick walls of stone.

 _Cole must have left at some point in the night,_ he thought. Dorian could not decide if that relived him or not.

Dorian stumbled down to breakfast with the single minded focus of getting anything into his body that was not liquor.  The mage spotted Varric’s bright red coat in his usual place in the Great Hall and slid into the empty seat beside the dwarf.

Dorian looked around and noted that he had arrived during the morning rush and quietly took stock of the Inner circle, as he did at every meal. Sera and Blackwall were across the hall packing away a tray of sweet rolls; Cassandra loomed over some poor recruit even at the early hour; but he did not see the Iron Bull, Cole, or the Inquisitor’s other mages.  Vivienne and Solas never slept in late and their unexpected absence rattled his already loose control over his emotions.

“We seem to be a few heads short,” Dorian mumbled unaware that he had spoken loud enough for Varric to hear.

“Counting your eggs, mother hen?” Varric teased, balancing a slice of toast on the tips of his fingers.

Dorian looked at the dwarf with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Though maybe they’d be your kids?” Varric mused.

“Yes,” Dorian drawled. “You know me, Varric. I just radiate protective nanny.”

Varric laughed and lathered his bread with a thick layer of honey. Dorian waited impatiently for the dwarf to tell him where the others were. Varric knew, of that there was no doubt.

“His Inquisitorialness—“Dorian sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth at the mention, “—left this morning for the Exalted Plains. Took Chuckles, Tiny, the Iron Lady, and Kid with him.”

“That’s—“Dorian bit off his first reaction. ‘Ridiculous’ he meant to say. He had heard no word of a mission and was baffled for a moment on why Alexander had not come to request his aid. Then he remembered. He cursed his instinctive reaction and continued on, “an odd party.”

“You’re telling me. They’re one argument on demons away from total disaster if you ask me.”

“Then why--?”

“—did Trevelyan take them?” Varric finished for the mage. “My guess: they were the first ones awake. He left early this morning, even before Cullen was awake if you can believe it.”

Alexander’s early departure stung more than Dorian wanted to admit. A part of him rankled that Alexander had taken the first chance he could to escape Skyhold without bothering to talk with Dorian first. Then again, Dorian had made no move to approach the man either in the days since their argument.

More than that, Dorian felt slighted. He had no right to feel upset that he had not been taken but he could not fight his conditioned response.  _Ridiculous,_  he thought.  _Did you expect him to take you after ending things?_

The two fell silent and shared breakfast together. Dorian was on his final slice of fruit when Varric spoke.

“Sparkler, you’d say we’re friends, right?”

Dorian blinked in confusion. Varric hadn’t struck him as the sort of dwarf who needed the reassurance. He affected a flirty grin and replied, “Why Varric, do you need me to stand on the table? Declare it for all and sundry?”

“I’m serious.”

“Then,” Dorian paused, glancing around the hall before answering with sincerity, “yes.”

“Then as your friend, I have to ask: just what the hell have you done to Trevelyan?”

Dorian stilled, fork frozen in the air above his plate. He rallied and said in a tone tinged with malice, “I beg your pardon?”

“None of that,” Varric said, a frown pulling at his mouth. The serious expression on the dwarf’s face pushed Dorian further off balance. This was not what he had expected when he sat down for breakfast with the dwarf. “Cut the fancy talk and tell it to me straight.

“You and the Inquisitor have been off the past couple of days. Snapping and being more moody than usual. Now I’m used to your Tevinter charms,” Varric said with a quirked lip. “But is there anything you want to share?”

“You suspect that I  _did_ ,” Dorian stressed the word, “something to Alexander? Could he not have been the one to do something to  _me_? Or is he so far from reproach, from flaw, that the only possible explanation is that the Tevinter Magister broke the Inquisitor?”

The mage’s voice had risen with each sentence and a red flush swept across his cheeks.  _To think that I called him ‘friend’!_

Varric would not be bated into an argument it seemed—he answered evenly after a beat, “I know Trevelyan and he’d rather cut his hands off than do something to upset you, Sparkler.”

Dorian shoved his plate away and rose from the chair with a clatter of wood on stone. He glared down at the dwarf with undisguised animosity. “Apparently you don’t know him as well as you think, dwarf.”

Varric blinked up at him, a near pole-axed expression on his face. Dorian snorted and intended to sweep away from the table but a hand on his robe halted his movement.

“Hold on, Dorian.” The use of his given name rather than Varric’s silly nickname was the only reason he did so. “I get it, I said the wrong thing. My bad. But get back here and sit down. We need to talk.”

“Why?”

“Because you are my friends, you and Trevelyan, and I want to help in whatever way I can.” Varric paused, presumably to allow the words to sink in before moving on. “I can only do that if you sit back down and tell me what’s going on.”

“And what right do you have to answers?”

“I’m your friend,” the dwarf said simply.

Dorian considered it, considered how many true friends he even had left— _a depressingly small amount_ —and moved back to sit beside the dwarf.

The mage’s actions had attracted the attention of those nearest them in the hall, but a glare from the dwarf had them turning back to their own meals.

“So you and the Inquisitor had a spat, it happens to every couple,” Varric said. The dwarf crossed his thick arms on the table, shoving the plates nearest him away.

“It wasn’t a ‘spat’,” Dorian said, the word baffling him into answering honestly.

 _Southerners had such quaint words,_ Dorian thought.  _As if a ‘spat’ was anywhere near what happened._

“Something happened, Sparkler,” Varric pushed. “You two were nauseating just a week ago, all that cuddling in your ‘secret lair’. Now you two can’t even stay in the same room before one of you runs off like there’s a dragon on your ass.”

“You know how it is,” Dorian hedged but did not speak further. His tongue was far too thick in his mouth for that. If knowledge of his and Alex’s actions had already reached Varric’s ears, then he had less time than he thought before the rumors on their break-up would start.

He realized then, that he could just leave Varric sitting there at the table without answering his questions any further. The dwarf would know soon enough. Perhaps he would know better than Dorian exactly what happened. Maker knew he was still struggling with it.

“Usually, yes,” Varric said. As if it was simple and that relationships could be summed up easily with those two words. Dorian envied Varric his ease at that moment. “But if I’ve learned anything here, it’s that nothing is ever simple when it comes to Trevelyan. Adding you just doubles that.”

Dorian was obstinate in his silence; Varric equally so in his prodding. Finally, Dorian snapped.

“Where do you get off lecturing me on romance?” Dorian said whatever came to mind to get Varric to _leave it alone_. “I’ve read your serial, Varric. A child knows more about love than you.”

“What about you?”

“Do not say that!” Dorian said, the words dripping in hurt and anger. Varric had no idea what he had gone through, here and in Tevinter. To say that he knew nothing of love…

Varric did look remorseful over his words, offering the mage a sad smile in reply but he did not take his words back.

“Sparkler, I know I might seem like a busy-body right now—“

“More than seem.”

“—but it’s only because I’m worried about you two,” Varric continued as if the mage had not spoken. The dwarf nudged his thick shoulder into Dorian’s side: his usual display of affection for the mage. “Talk to me.”

Dorian looked down at the table inches away from him. The thick wood was well-kept despite the number of people who used it and only a few scorch marks—from magic or platters, who could say—dotted the surface. Dorian reached out to circle one with his finger.

“We,” Dorian began, nervously wetting his lips. “Alex and I, we ended things.”

“Oh.” It was hardly a word, no more than an exhalation of air that pushed past the dwarf’s lips.

“Oh,” Dorian echoed. His finger traced another circle around the dark mark.

The dwarf’s next words baffled him. “Officially?”

“I wasn’t aware there was paperwork to fill out,” Dorian bit out. “’Sign here and here to  _officially_ have your heart broken. We’ll need it by sundown, Master Pavus’.”

“I only meant to ask if you said it plain?”

“There was hardly room for interpretation, Varric,” Dorian said thinking back to Alexander’s shattered expression when the mage had rejected him.

“Not interpretation so much as misunderstanding.” Varric continued at Dorian’s sharp look. “It happens. Someone says one thing and another takes it the wrong way or not at all.”

Dorian thought back on his words.  _“This I don’t need.”_  He thought he had been clear, but the dwarf’s words stirred doubt in his mind.

“Perhaps.” That was all he could concede to the dwarf at that moment. Could there possibly be room for more misunderstandings in their relationship? When he saw the other open his mouth to continue he hastened to add, “Varric, I really don’t want to talk of this.”

“Alright, Sparkler.” Judging by the deep line between the dwarf’s eyebrows, he was not happy letting the subject go.

Dorian stood from the table and retreated to his room. He refused to see it for the flight it was.

 

***

 

Varric approached him again the same day Dorian ran into Josephine.

He had taken a shortcut past her office and she had spotted him through the open door, calling for him to enter in a strained voice. Dorian had never been good at denying the woman a moment of his time and had entered with a smile and witty greeting on the tip of his tongue. Her demeanor had killed both.

The Inquisition’s ambassador had been near beside herself with worry over the Inquisitor.  She had confided in Dorian, between mutters in Antivan and soft, agitated sighs, that the man should have arrived two days ago. The mission, she had explained, was only to be for a fortnight and the man’s continued absence worried her.

Dorian had ignored the drop in his gut at her words and reassured the woman as best as he could.  _A delay_ , he had said,  _nothing more_.

Josephine had been reassured by his words, Dorian frightened. He had retreated hastily from her office and deeper into the keep. Thoughts on Alex’s fate and how  _he didn’t know_  plagued the mage as he wandered the dark, twisting passages of Skyhold.

Those same thoughts had driven him from the safety of the keep’s interior and onto the southernmost battlements. He settled atop the railing, legs dangling over the interior of the keep and chilled by the contact with the cold stonework, and thought.

From his perch he could see the few horses Dennet kept within the grounds wandering over the small patch of grass beside the stable. If he strained his ears he could hear the faint sounds of metal on wood amid the soft whickers of the horses.

_Blackwall must be working on another project._

“Sparkler.”

Dorian had not noticed the dwarf’s approach. It was an amateur’s mistake for a hated Tevinter mage to make in Thedas, even within Skyhold. He glanced over to see the dwarf settle beside him on the rail. Varric’s red shirt was hidden under a thick fur coat and the tail in his hair shifted in the stray drafts of wind.

Dorian waited for him to speak. When he did, it was exactly what Dorian didn’t want to hear.

"About the Inquisitor,” the dwarf began and Dorian cursed under his breath. Ever since their shared breakfast two weeks past, the Dwarf had shown up where the mage least expected him, hoping to talk with the mage about his relationship— _ex-_ relationship with Trevelyan.

“Varric, enough.” Dorian said. “I understand that you’re trying to help me—“

“This isn’t just about you,” Varric interjected. “You  _and_  Trevelyan are my friends. Equally. Since you won’t tell me what happened—“a fact Dorian never intended to rectify—“I can only do what I think will help you both.”

“Why are you so concerned with this?” Dorian said, exasperated. Two weeks filled with talks that he would have given any amount of gold to never have flashed through his mind.

“I’ve told you, you’re my—“

“Friend, yes. How lovely that you use that term like a shield, a magical ‘oh this explains everything, no need to tell the Tevinter Magister what I even mean’.” Dorian caught the dwarf’s gaze out of the corner of his own eyes and held it.

Varric must have seen something in his expression that upset him. The dwarf’s mouth had pulled into a frown and his gloved hand came up to rub at his neck and said, “Try and understand that I’m not here just to upset you. If you can believe that for five minutes, then we can end these talks.”

The unsaid, “and help you,” reached Dorian anyway.

Dorian took in a deep breath. Chilled mountain air flooded his lungs and he held it until his lungs ached. “Fine.”

Varric nodded but Dorian didn’t see any hint of satisfaction on the dwarf’s face. “You said there might have been some confusion on whether or not it was and ‘end’ with a capital ‘E’ or not.”

This was usually the part where Dorian made up an excuse and fled, but he remembered the dwarf’s words and stayed.

“Don’t you think you could reconsider it?”

“Why would I?”

“I might not be able to write the pinnacle of romance, Sparkler,” Varric said, a teasing grin on his lips to ease the tension Dorian’s words had brought. “But I can recognize it when I see it. You and Trevelyan…you had something.”

The dwarf shifted, perhaps embarrassed over how reverently he had said the last word.

“’Had’ being the key word.” Dorian said, realizing too late that he had let too much emotion slip on that simple word. Too much remorse and longing that could not be explained or waved away.

Dorian looked down to the small, make-shift pasture far below their dangling feet. A golden Ranger wandered close to a speckled Talisian Strider. Was it his? Dorian focused on the horse rather than his silent friend beside him.

“Then you owe it to Alex to end it. Officially.” Even the teasing comment wasn’t enough to stop Dorian’s heart from dropping.

“Finish things.” He had thought the same thing countless times, but to hear another say it aloud was different. It made it real. “I suppose that would be—“

He couldn’t say it. Could not finish that statement with a paltry “best”, even a “necessary”. It didn’t feel as such anymore. Even without Varric’s constant interference, the mage had begun to reconsider his actions.  The time apart from Alex had proven to have one positive affect: it allowed Dorian further time to reconsider his and Alexander’s relationship.

Dorian was pulled from his thoughts by the dwarf at his side. He had been silent too long.

“Either fix it or utterly destroy it, Sparkler. You can’t have it both ways.” With that, Varric slid off the rail and moved away.

Dorian found he could not move. He was trapped in his thoughts.

Fix it, destroy it, fix, destroy—it all came down to two questions: could he live without Alexander in his life; and had he said no because he was afraid of what others would say?

Atop the railing, grey eyes staring into the distance while his fingers dug into unrelenting stone, Dorian knew those questions well. They had haunted his mind for sixteen days, nearly drove him mad at turns, but it was only after Varric’s cutting words that he had his answers. Whether or not he  _could_  live without Alexander was irrelevant—he had no desire to  _do_  so; he had refused because some part of himself was still that young man in Tevinter, afraid of other’s and their words.

Dorian shuffled back from the railing, landing awkwardly on the walkway with fumbling feet.  _A distraction,_  he thought desperately.  _I need something to do._

“I need to not think” chased him over the battlements to his usual practice corner atop the Mage’s tower. Before he knew it, Dorian had climbed all four ladders to the rooftop and its small practice area.

He glowered at the pair of elvhen apprentices occupying the area until they scattered under his harsh gaze. The girl huffed in annoyance but it was the expression on the boy’s face that set Dorian’s already frayed nerves on edge. The open look of disgust on the boy’s slim face was hardly tempered by the faint traces of curiosity that pulled at his brow. Dorian wondered at its source—was the elf glaring at an Imperial Altus? Or at the man not-so-currently in bed with the Inquisitor?

Magic sparked along Dorian’s fist as he shot a half-formed burst of electricity towards the nearest practice dummy. It wasn’t even a proper spell, merely a physical expression of Dorian’s anger and fear. Dorian continued his assault headless of where the two southern mages had gone to. He settled into his stance and switched to fire, his fingers having gone numb from the constant sparks.

He had forsaken his amatus, their relationship,  _what he had held in his hands,_  because of what  _could_  have been said. Had spared his pride and driven a man away on an abstraction of his fears.  Dorian knew that his reaction had been justified, he  _knew_  that, but his inability to deny a desire to be courted by Alex still haunted him.

A particularity vicious fireball pierced through the dummy’s left shoulder—a shot gone wide and a spike in his heartbeat at the reminder.

Dorian resettled his posture, nudging his feet further apart and forced his mind to refocus on nothing but the dummy in front of him. His focus lasted for no more than ten minutes before it wandered again. As he instinctively prepared another compressed ball of fire, he thought back to his conversation with Varric not an hour past.

It all came back to what Varric had said: Fix it, or destroy it.

The mage could imagine what the latter entailed. It would not be pretty. No matter how kindly Dorian worded it, they would never be able to revert to friendship. They had never had ‘just’ friendship between them. Dorian had flirted with the man with his every breath from the moment he met him and Alexander had returned it in kind.

Destruction would change every aspect of their interactions. He would not be able to tease the man without worrying about leading him on; would not be able to be alone with Alex without remembering the taste of his lips and the sheer love behind his touches; would not be able to stay here.

Dorian sucked in a sharp breath. He froze mid-attack, his hand splayed before him and cackling with dying magic, grey eyes staring into the distance beyond the practice dummy.

He would lose his home.

Dorian would stay until Corypheus was defeated but Skyhold would no longer be the same. Already without his lover, things had changed and it was only now that he realized his home was slipping away from him. Sure, he had plans—abstract, vague, “someday in the future, amatus”—plans to return to Tevinter and change things, but Alexander had irrevocably changed them.

Unnoticed by the mage, his hand curled into a fist and began to tremble as it fell to his side. Anxiety, a foe he thought he had conquered, raced through his veins and numbed his skin.

 _Think of something else, Pavus. Anything else,_  his mind pleaded. He clung to the idea that flashed into his mind like it was the Maker himself.

“Fix it” Varric had said. Fix the silence and hurt and loneliness until it shone again. Not as it once had (there was no going back to that) but it could be better. Had to be better than standing on a rooftop next to a pair smouldering dummies while the man he loved was facing who-knew-what in the Exalted Plains wi _thout Dorian._

Dorian had his answer. Now he only had to wait for Alexander to return.

 

***

 

It was the lack of sound in the Great Hall that caught Dorian’s attention.  He had just entered from the courtyard’s door, eyes locked onto the codex caught between his fingers, when he realized that the usually buzzing hall was still. He looked up from the text, his light eyes tracking the people in the hall.

The only movement came from the main entrance where a small group of figures entered through the grand doors. Dorian squinted against the bright light that filled the tall entryway to see who had returned. It was only when the group passed through the secondary entranceway that Dorian recognized them. The Inquisitor’s party, headed by the man himself, had finally returned to Skyhold seventeen days after they had left.

 _There's something off about Alex,_  Dorian realized watching the party’s slow progression. He blinked rapidly, attempting to clear his vision but it did little to change the sight in front of him.

Alexander was, for lack of a better word,  _shuffling_  across the keep’s stone floors. His left leg dragged slightly behind him as he walked further down the hall, stumbling slightly over the change from stone to carpet.

Dorian’s eyes took in every cut and bruise on the man’s skin, every patch of discoloration on bared forearms. The man’s clothes, what was left of them, hid damage that Dorian could only guess at. The sleeves of Alex’s lustrous cotton jacket had been cut off unevenly and tears littered the bear hide that protected the man’s chest and shoulders.

The change was startling. Within the halls of Skyhold, Dorian was used to seeing the man dressed impeccably.  Even with his wounds, Alex walked with the bearing of Inquisitor Trevelyan but his unkempt appearance undermined the effect.  He looked as far away from the man Dorian had watched leave Skyhold as possible.

The sight of Alexander bruised and limping cased something inside Dorian to break. The ringing in his ears mixed with the buzz echoing throughout the hall as the keep found its voice. The high vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall distorted the voices, the numerous accents warping together into a low hum that filled the space.

Dorian watched as Alex forced himself to stand taller, walk straighter and on towards the War room without stopping. Dorian doubted that he had even stopped at the healer’s tents in the lower courtyard before heading here.

There, limping before him, was the physical evidence of his failure to both his Inquisitor and his lover. It was the final nail in Dorian’s resolve. If this was the outcome of his distance, of his anger, then it was not worth it.

Could he live with himself if this was the result of his inaction?

  1.  the word rang clearly in his mind. He could not live with himself if Alex came to harm because he was not there to protect him.



Dorian subconsciously stepped forward at the thought, bringing himself just out of line with the rest of the bystanders and into Alexander’s view.

Alex did not stop when he passed Dorian as he might have once before. Instead, he walked by without even the slightest of pauses. But his strong posture was betrayed by his eyes. While Alex walked boldly past Dorian, his eyes were fixed on the ground the entire time.

The lack of recognition burnt like the cheapest bourbon and bile rose up in his throat. Far too quickly the party moved past him and into Josephine’s office. He was dimly aware of the glance Solas shot him before he too moved past him into the office.

Dorian was frozen and helpless and could only watch as Alex left him behind.

 

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's reliance on alcohol, both in game and what's mentioned in the handbook, is like a gut punch to hear, even when he jokes about it with Blackwall.
> 
> Dorian's party conversations with Varric and Cole are some of the best in game dialogues. The bets between Varric and Dorian are hilarious too.
> 
> Comments, critiques, and thoughts are always amazing to read!


	5. ACT V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coming of dawn
> 
> explicit sexual content ahead

After watching Josephine’s office door close behind Alexander’s shuffling form, Dorian retreated to his quarters.

He felt like an exposed nerve, raw and aching, and wanted nothing more than to hide away behind a closed door. Once behind that door, however, he wanted nothing more than to throw it open and find Alex. Talk to him. To fix what they had between them for them both, not just for Alex.

“No,” Dorian muttered forcing himself away from the door. Approaching Alex with such a conflicted mind would only result in another argument, one neither of them needed.

Despite the early hour, Dorian prepared for bed. He pulled his armor off and left it in a pile atop his trunk at the foot of his bed. He skipped pulling on a set of nightwear and crawled naked into bed, the soft brush of ram fur against his bare stomach easing the tension in his muscles in degrees.

Laying there underneath his sheets and blankets he was at the mercy of his thoughts. How could he approach Alex? How would he word it and not make it a plea, a defeat?

Then Dorian recalled Alex’s actions in the hall, his resolute disinterest in Dorian and a new horror occurred to him, _is it too late?_

That thought circled around his mind and chased all others out. In the days without Alex, the possibility had never occurred to him even when his thoughts took their darkest turns.

A shiver wracked his frame. He burrowed deeper into his cocoon of fabric and warmth and wound the nearest stretch of fabric around his fist, bringing it up to rest against his mouth. Dorian ran his unoccupied hand through the fur underneath him, the touch grounding him at last. Dorian resolutely closed his eyes against the evening light filling his room and forced himself to breath evenly.

He would approach Alex the next morning as early as possible. That was all he could do.

 

***

 

Dorian jerked awake. He blinked rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes but they still took time to adjust to the sudden light that filled his room. He swung his gaze over to the window and stared uncomprehendingly at the glimpse of pale blue sky that he could spy through the glass. It was well after dawn.

Dorian swore and shoved the twisted blankets away and attempted to stand at the same time. The mage wobbled dangerously on the floor beside his bed, his left foot tangled in a sheet while he reached out for the pile of clothes on top of his trunk. Dorian shook out the leather and fabric underarmor from the roughshod pile he had left it in in an attempt to get rid of the worst of the wrinkles. It didn’t work.

Giving up on that task as hopeless, he tossed the fabric back into a pile with a curse and dug into his chest for a different set of robes. The mage had a spare set of dark blue apprentice armor that he had long since retired from the field but had never actually gotten around to throwing away. They had been the first thing he bought when he reached Ferelden, a bright flash of opulent blue silk brocade in an otherwise unremarkable town.

Thanking his sentimentality, he pulled them on and rushed from the room. He was in such a hurry that he even forwent his usual morning routine of fixing his hair and makeup. A quick pass of his fingers through his hair on the way down to the Great Hall would have to do; Alex was more important than vanity right then.

Dorian edged into the main hall and cast about for Alex.  His eyes caught on a flash of bright red and he craned his neck to see over the heads of the milling people to see the source. Alexander was next to one of the halls’ towering crow statues along with a small band of lesser nobles.

Dorian found himself moving before he could think twice. He approached Alex from behind and coughed loudly behind the man to catch his attention.

Alex waved away the last messenger before turning around, his polite “Inquisitor” smile in place. It dropped when the man had fully turned around to face Dorian.

“Dorian.” Alexander’s thick brow went up moments after he turned to Dorian, and Dorian realized what a sight he must have been at that moment. Hair tamed by rough finger trials, his pale eyes undoubtedly underlined with smudged black lines, and clothes that looked like they had spent the night on the floor. Undoubtedly he looked anything but a Tevinter noble at that moment.

Distantly, Dorian could hear the titters of the nobles Alex had been talking with but he pushed them from his attention. A conversation with Alex was more important than his wounded vanity.

To his credit, Alexander only craned his neck once in a search for an escape route.

“Alex,” he replied just as simply.

“Yes, well, I must be off,” Alex said and turned to leave. “I believe Leliana had something she wished to discuss with me.”

Watching Alex’s attempt to flee, Varric’s words came to mind: “you two can’t even stay in the same room before one of you runs off like there’s a dragon on your ass”. How right the dwarf was.

Dorian reached out to stop the man, but his fingers halted inches away from Alex’s sleeve. The scant inches that separated them seemed like the Breach itself—a yawning expanse that would have taken a herculean effort to cross. Blue eyes flicked up to meet and catch on Dorian’s own at the move.

As it was, the two men were suspended in mid-motion: Dorian’s hand reaching out to Alex whose weight was balanced precariously between his upturned heels as he turned. One push on either side would break the spell and Dorian found himself the one opening his mouth to do so. “Are we never going to be able to be in the same room again?” Dorian asked exasperated.

“Of course we will, Dorian,” Alex said but his eyes had already left Dorian again.

The mage felt his irritation spike. “Vasta Kaffas, at least have the courtesy to pretend that I don’t repulse you!”

“You don’t repulse me,” Alex said baffled.

“Right, because you’re just radiating warmth, ” Dorian drawled. Alexander flushed red at the mage’s tone. “We need to talk.”

“Later, Dorian,” Alex hedged but Dorian cut him off.

“Now.”

Alex’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “If you would follow me, I believe Josephine’s office—“

“No.”

Alex looked taken aback by the mage’s forceful tone and his façade dropped. Gone were the disinterested frown, blank stare, and perfect poise. Instead, raised eyebrows and a slouched posture had replaced the stiffness Dorian attributed to the Inquisitor’s title. Here, in the middle of the keep’s main hall for all to see, was Alex Trevelyan and not The Inquisitor.

“I’d prefer your quarters, Alex,” Dorian said in a softer tone. There was no need to end things before he even had a chance to talk with the other. He kept his arms tucked behind his back lest he reach out for Alex again.

Around them a few had taken note of the conversation and Trevelyan’s uncharacteristic—from their perspective—response to it. Like a bee hive, their words buzzed in the hall and echoed in Dorian’s mind. It didn’t matter.

“After you then,” Alex said with a short bob of his head. The man’s deference was another glimpse of the Alex that Dorian had been aching for.

Dorian led the way to the younger man’s quarters with a firm step, not balking under the hum of words in the hall at the bold action. Alexander followed after him, closing the door between them and the rest of the world.

Once the inner door to the Inquisitor’s rooms closed behind Dorian, his courage fled him. Walking to his usual coach in the room seemed presumptuous, callous even. There was no place within Alexander’s quarters that he did not have a memory of. It seemed a mistake to have brought this conversation back to the place where everything had all fallen apart.

 _Too late now, Pavus._ What had his father said years ago? _“You reap what you sow.”_

Dorian rocked on his heels and dug the metal points into the wood while he stalled for time. He glanced at Alex from underneath his lashes and caught the pained look in the man’s eyes between blinks.

Neither made an attempt to move further into the room.

“There was something you wanted to discuss, Dorian?” Alex said with forced formality. Dorian watched as the man adopted what Dorian dubbed his “Inquisitor pose” and the sight nearly broke his heart. He could count on one hand the number of times Alex had appeared as such before him even including the brief time before their relationship. He hadn’t even needed to use all of his fingers.

 _It seems that’s about to change,_ Dorian noted with a sinking heart.

“I saw you the other day,” Dorian began and drew to a halt, unsure how to continue.

“Oh?” again it was said in a politely disinterested tone.

 _Maker, is this how it is to be now? Awkward pauses and base chit-chat. The Imperium was better than this._ Dorian tried again, “You looked…less than your usual, marvelous self.”

Alexander flinched at Dorian’s forced flirty tone and the mage instantly regretted his choice of words.

 _Too soon._ Neither of them had the right to that level of familiarity, not now. Alex drew his shoulders back, his blue eyes rising back to their previous spot of gazing over Dorian’s left ear, and it was if the moment of weakness had never happened.

Dorian cursed under his breath and tried again, “I’ve heard tell that you were planning an expedition into Emprise du Lion. An attempt to retake the keep?”

“How did you hear that?” Finally Alex lost his composure, blue eyes wide behind fluttering lashes.

“It does pay to have the Inquisition’s spymaster as a neighbor,” Dorian replied. Alex didn’t need to know that Dorian had traded in several favors and the promise to acquire a pet nug for the woman in exchange for the information.

Alex merely nodded and a brief smile flickered over his lips as if he knew what Dorian had done anyway. When Alex’s posture slumped into a relaxed curve, Dorian recognized the man’s actions for what they were—posturing. In the absence of the forced posture and actions, Dorian could see the lines of stress that ran under dulled blue eyes that flashed with a mixture of want and despair. It seemed Dorian wasn’t the only one effected by the end of their relationship.

 _Now how to word this,_ Dorian thought emboldened. Should he just demand a place on the Inquisitor’s party?

Before he could word his demand, Alex began speaking. “Vivienne’s been called away to Val Royeaux on personal matters, and Solas has pleaded for rest following our trip to the Plains.”

 _Maker, was he…?_ Dorian felt hope awaken in his chest the longer Alexander spoke.

“I find myself in need of a mage,” Alex said. The man’s blue gaze remained on a spot just beyond Dorian’s left ear but his words were sincere. “Would you accompany us, Dorian?”

Dorian recognized it for what it was—an olive branch, one to fix their professional relationship but not their personal one. Dorian and Alex would both have to work for that one it seemed. It was, however, heartening to know that Alex too wished to fix the rift between them. “I’ll meet you at the gates tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Alex said and the ghost of a smile flitted around his full lips. He paused before speaking again, “I...”

Dorian looked up hopefully only to be disappointed when the man seemed to deflate. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Dorian. Excuse me.”

Even as the Inquisitor walked past Dorian to return to the Great Hall, the mage counted it as a victory.

 

***

 

The snowstorm came without warning. The Inquisitor’s party had just set out from Suledin Keep to retreat east back to Tower Camp to send word that the keep had finally been reclaimed from the Red Templars—and desire demon—that had held it hostage.

Trudging through the wide path cut between the rocky terrain the group had been caught entirely in the open. Dorian could have sworn that the solid blanket of white appeared between one blink and the next, the tall trees and glowing red lyrium formations swallowed up and wiped from existence in one fell swoop. Even The Tower of Bone disappeared from sight, distant though it had been.

Then the roaring came. The winds—icy, brutal, and piercing—ripped through the open space, aided by the rocks that funneled the winds and increased their force. It sounded rather like the Red Templar Horrors they had just fought and the comparison did little to sooth Dorian’s nerves. Blinded and deafened Dorian could do little but blink owlishly into the white void that now surrounded them.

Despite being unable to see farther than a foot in any direction, Alex declared that they would push forward. The four of them had gathered into an uneasy line, hands clutching onto whatever they could reach on the person in front of them. Tucked in between Alexander and Cassandra, Dorian kept up a steady stream of curses in Tevene that billowed in front of his face in white puffs of air.

 _How Alex knows which way to go, I cannot imagine,_ Dorian thought. He couldn’t feel his hold on the back of Alex’s leather coat but he tightened his grip anyway. The Inquisitor led them unerringly forward and as they hadn’t yet walked into a cliff— _or off of one—_ Dorian counted it as a victory.

They had barely passed into the fringes of the abandoned village outside Tower Camp before Cassandra called from her place in the middle of the group.

“This is madness!” the woman shouted but even Dorian barley heard it from his place in front of the woman. He looked over his shoulder at the Seeker and flinched back from her stare. The fierce glare in the woman’s pale eyes outmatched the natural storm around them.

 _And of course, I’m in between her and her intended target,_ Dorian thought. His own pale eyes caught Cassandra’s and he could read their message loud and clear. He sighed. _Now I’m a messenger crow. Lovely._

Dorian used his hold on Alexander’s coat tails to stop the man in his resolute march forward. It took several sharp tugs for the man to look back at the mage.

“What?” Short, brutal, and to the point. _Much like the weather._

“We cannot continue, Alex.” Dorian said, pushing past the annoyance at Alexander’s tone. The man in question leaned in closer to hear the mage’s words over the howling wind. It was the closest the two had been in weeks and it only took a snowstorm to bring them together.

“At this rate we’ll walk off the mountain.” As if to emphasis his point, the wind picked up in speed and buffeted the group. It was like a behemoth’s fist to the gut and it winded Dorian and sent him stumbling back several paces. He would have fallen over had Alex not reached out with his marked hand to grasp onto Dorian’s forearm. “We must stop.”

Alex looked down with a frown and Dorian waited for the man to respond. For a moment Dorian feared that Alex would have them press on never mind that Dorian couldn’t tell the ground from the sky. He needn’t have worried.

Alex’s shoulders dropped and he let loose a sound that was instantly swallowed up by a sudden gust of wind. Dorian watched as the man looked around them in a hopeless search for a solution. The man glared at their surroundings before turning the fierce look to his bare left palm. The Mark flickered briefly and Alex nodded as if that was the answer he had been waiting for.

Suddenly Alex clenched his left fist, a cackled of green energy lancing around the knuckles as he summoned and condescend the gathering Fade energy. Dorian watched in wonder as magic accumulated until Alexander’s fist nearly vibrated from the energy.

Alex lifted his hand above his head and released the gathered magic with a great cry. An orb of condensed Fade energy shot from the Inquisitor’s fist into the air above the small party. It sparked in place for a moment before a rough dome of green light shot out from the orb encircling the group. The powerful energy pushed against the storm, green sparks fighting against wind and snow before finally winning out.

 _The Mark of the Rift. Who knew it worked on snow as well as demons?_ Dorian thought with amusement.

Finally Dorian could see around them as the powerful magic cleared the air. It was like standing in the eye of a storm encased in green tinted glass dome. The space around the quartet was still and calm while the storm ragged above and around them on all sides. On the far edge of the dome Dorian spied the corner of a building, the red of its exterior catching his eye.

“There,” Dorian said and pointed towards the structure. The Iron Bull let go of Cassandra’s scabbard (reluctantly, if Dorian had to guess) and reached out for the red stone. His large hands roamed around the material he could see before venturing beyond the reaches of the protected area within the dome.

“Feels like a wall,” Iron Bull grumbled. “Might be a house, boss.”

“Were there any houses intact?” Cassandra wondered aloud. “I thought the Red Templars destroyed the entire village.” Despite her words, the woman had approached the Qunari and was helping him feel out the wall.

“It’s better than standing out here,” Alex said and walked over to the pair.

It was only when Dorian felt a tug on his arm that he realized that his arm was still within Alex’s grip. It seemed Alex only noticed then as well. The man looked down at his hand upon Dorian’s leather bracer as if confused on how he had become attached to the mage. Blue eyes flicked up to Dorian’s own pale eyes and Dorian was taken aback at the level of want that sparked through the bright depths before it was masked by a cold distance.

Stunned, Dorian could do little but watch as Alex dropped his hold and turned from him.

 _Not again,_ Dorian lamented. It was that day in Skyhold all over again: Dorian, frozen and helpless, while Alex attempted to move on from him.

“Dorian.” the mage looked up at his name but it was not Alexander who had spoken. The Iron Bull was watching the mage, a deep frown blending into the network of scars along the Qunari’s face. Cassandra and Alex had already reformed the line and were waiting for Dorian to grasp onto Bull so they could find shelter.

Dorian glanced at Alex but the Inquisitor was gazing resolutely forward, hand on the wall.

“Always knew you couldn’t resist, ‘Vint,” The Iron Bull joked as Dorian grasped onto the shaft of his Great Axe.

Disgusted, Dorian almost dropped his grasp storm be damned before Alex’s voice came from the front of the line. “Bull. Enough.”

“Just trying to ease the tension, boss,” The Iron Bull said but his gaze remained on Dorian. The Qunari’s one visible eye looked down with—worry? Dorian blinked several times but the look remained on the Ben-Hassrath’s face.

 _Was Bull trying to help?_ Dorian thought incredulously. The compassionate move was not one he thought Bull capable of. He wasn’t sure how to respond. With anger? Disgust? Gratitude?

Dorian snorted at the last. “You wish, Qunari.” But Iron Bull did not respond with his usual—terrible—reply. Instead, he cast one last gaze at Dorian before moving with the group.

Luck was with them for once as the wall turned out to belong to a largely intact house. Somehow the bright red building had survived the Red Templars’ anger and had three of its four rooms intact.

Passing through the ruined entryway, Dorian wondered who had called the small place home. Despite how long the Inquisition had been in Emprise du Lion, he had never heard the name of this village as those in Sahrnia had never mentioned it, too concerned with their own plight to worry about such a small village.

“We’ll camp here for now. The moment the storm breaks, we make for Tower camp,” Alex said after a cursory check of the building had been made. Abruptly, the man turned with a muttered, “Goodnight.”

If Cassandra or Bull found their leader’s behavior odd, they did not mention it. Cassandra and Bull claimed what remained of the bedroom after Alex wandered into the small room just beyond the entryway. The message was clear—Dorian was expected to take the last vacant room.

Dorian had never done well with other’s expectations. He waited for Bull and Cassandra to disappear into their chosen room and then waited for a further count of one hundred. He needed the time to gather his thoughts and plan even though he knew it would fall to pieces moments after speaking with Alex.

Squaring his shoulders, Dorian strode to the door of the room Alex had chosen for the evening. The mage paused in the doorway. Across the room, Alex stood before a hearth filled with burning pieces of furniture with his hand hanging at his sides.

Alex hadn’t noticed his presence if his hunched form was anything to go by. Dorian waited for Alex to do something—prepare for bed, search the room, turn and face the doorway, _anything_ , but the man remained unmoving before the hearth. It seemed Dorian would have to make the first move.

“It this how it is to be?”

Alexander looked over his shoulder, the metal tipped collar of his jacket blocking the lower half of his face from Dorian’s sight. The mage floundered. Alex’s eyes were the same cool blue as they had been outside and with half his face blocked, Dorian had little idea how the man had received his words. He pressed on.

“Cordial disdain?” Dorian asked from the doorway. “I’ve had enough of that from the Imperium.”

Alex turned back to the fire. “It’s called space, Dorian. I think we could both use some after…that.”

“You won’t even mention it by name?” Dorian asked. He moved into the room and shut the door firmly behind him. No need for the Seeker or the Ben-Hassrath to hear this. “You won’t even own up to your own mistakes?”

“I—“

“Left.” Dorian spat. His mind was awash in an equal mix of anger and want and he felt as if he were two steps away from hitting or kissing Alex.

“I was not the one who left!” Alex said and the anguish in his voice surprised Dorian. “That was you, Dorian. You left and you didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself.”

“I did. You said that we had discussed it, agreed on it. Don’t you remember?”

“I misunderstood,” Alex said. The man’s shoulders hunched once more underneath his thick leather coat. “I thought…I thought you knew what I was talking about, what I wanted—“

“Maker take you, just say it!”

“I wanted to marry you!” Alex cried. Even though Dorian had demanded them, the words still surprised him. He had thought them in his mind, had come close to telling them to Varric during one of their numerous talks, but to hear Alex say it…Maker, how his heart fluttered and dropped. “I wanted to marry you,” Alex repeated softly. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

Dorian froze at those words, at their implications, but Alex was finally in motion: an unstoppable force of passion and sorrow as he pushed on.

“Maker, I cannot do this,” Alex cried out in palpable frustration. “I am sorry, Dorian. I wronged you and I dressed it up in words of love however misguided. I know that now. And I’ve handled it poorly, running away when I should have come to you. I hurt you, but why must you hurt me this way? It’s over; I know that, so why drag this back up again?”

“You seem to _know_ a great many things, your worship, but you don’t understand a thing.” Maker, what was he doing? This was not how he wanted to have this discussion. Dorian took in a deep breath and held it.

Dorian let out a sigh; in it was every feeling he had kept bottled up over the past weeks. Sadness, betrayal, fear, love, dozens of emotions and he just let them go, one by one with the air that escaped from his lips. Empty of both he felt calm for the first time. With a clear mind he was able to see that yelling at Alex would accomplish nothing. If he had any desire to save their relationship—and he had a great deal—then they would need to put aside their egos and talk as equals.

The sounds of the storm outside could be heard in the silence that engulfed the pair, the white noise creeping through the stone walls and filling in the spaces between words. The oppressive chill characteristic of the region increased by the moment and Dorian was tired of being cold.

Dorian approached Alex and held out his hand. Alex stared at the gloved fingers as if he had never seen them before, blue eyes little more than a blur as they flicked between the offered hand and Dorian’s face. Dorian smiled. Tentatively, Alex smiled back and reached out to lay the tips of his fingers atop Dorian’s palm. The mage laced their fingers together and marveled at the heat that seeped into his hand from the contact.

“We were both at fault—“

“Dorian, no,” Alex tried to protest but Dorian would not hear it.

“We were, perhaps not equally, but we both could have handled the situation better.” Dorian squeezed Alex’s hands to soften his next words. “You should have told me, truly asked, and not gone behind my back. Not tried to trick me into it. And I…”

“Should have stayed and explained yourself,” Alex continued, mimicking Dorian’s previous action. “Instead of drinking yourself into a rage.”

“How did you--?”

“Cole found me the next morning. Gave me a thorough tongue lashing,” Alex admitted with a sheepish shrug. “I’ve never seen him so distraught. You truly scared him, Dor.”

“He’s just being a mother hen,” Dorian said but was pleased nonetheless. Cole was a tricky spirit to understand, but to hear that he had cared enough to seek out Alex and berate him on the mage’s behalf was humbling. _Compassion indeed._

“I wonder who he gets that from?” Alex joked but it was clear from his tone that he knew the answer. Dorian let out a helpless chuckle at that, one Alex joined in with.

Alex sobered quickly and spoke again, “forgive me?”

Dorian gazed up into the man’s blue eyes and could feel nothing but love. “I do.”

The tension instantly left Alex’s frame. The man seemed to droop as if the strings that held him taught had finally been cut. A second helpless laugh escaped the man’s lips and his hands trembled within Dorian’s grasp. “Thank you.”

Dorian watched as Alex took a moment to compose himself before the man turned hesitant eyes back onto the mage. “Where do we go from here?”

“It cannot be what it was,” Dorian said because someone had to. Going by the defeated look on Alex’s face the man had already known that too. “You and I both know that.”

Before Alex could pull away, the mage spoke once more, “But it can be something else—something new, and better.”

“Better,” Alex said as if testing out the word. Dorian hid a wince. The word sounded so paltry when Alex said it. A placeholder that said nothing and meant even less. Then Alex smiled and repeated the word as if it meant _everything,_ “better. I’d like that. So very much.”

“As would I.” Then instinct took over. Dorian’s elation over finally reconnecting with the man he adored propelled him into Alex’s arms. The first kiss startled Trevelyan, but by the third the man had been swept away by Dorian. Relieved breaths of laughter escaped between kisses but Dorian could no longer tell who they came from.

Legs suddenly too weak to support both his and Alex’s weight, Dorian collapsed onto the ground before the hearth, Alex following him down. They landed atop a threadbare carpet but neither felt the rough fabric through their armor.

Dorian wrapped tight arms around Alex’s larger frame and coaxed the man without words into more.

 _The time for words has come and gone_ , Dorian thought. _Now we need action._

However, it was not as easy as Dorian would have liked. Their time apart (and the cause of their distance) had impacted their rhythm. The two men stumbled over one another where before they had embraced with the grace of experienced and long-time lovers. Dorian worked up a rhythm only for Alex to disrupt it with a kiss when he should have gasped.

 _This,_ Dorian thought as he bumped into Alex’s hands as both attempted to undo the lace’s on Alex’s pants. _This is a disaster._

The barest amount of fabric was pushed aside for the coupling. Dorian’s waistband was tight against the crease between his thighs and ass, and only Alex’s laces had been undone to free his erection from the confines of the stiff leather.

When Alex made a move to undress further, Dorian stopped him by placing his gloved hands over the Inquisitor’s barred ones. Trevelyan looked up under his disarrayed red hair with a look of confusion that bordered on hurt.

“Cold,” Dorian offered. Alex seemed to accept the mage’s words with a short bob of his head before the man leaned down to press soft kisses along the mage’s brow and temple. It was partly true, at least. The mage had no desire to be naked on the floor of a half-ruined house in the middle of a snowstorm. That he was equally unwilling to be so bare in front of Alexander no matter the setting was harder to admit.

 _Kaffas, what are you thinking,_ Dorian swore at himself. Had he not decided to fix his relationship with Alexander? To regain what he once shared with the other man? But no matter how he argued for it in his mind, the mage could not get his body to cooperate. Kisses, touches over their clothes, even rutting against Alex’s clothed hips was welcomed by his mind. Dorian was not one to turn away physical pleasure. It was what he had done with dalliances in Tevinter after all.

Dorian gasped. Alexander, apparently taking it as a gasp of pleasure, did not stop placing kisses against Dorian’s neck, the only patch of skin not covered by cloth. The mage’s mind however, was miles away. He was treating Alex as one of his paramours from Tevinter—another nameless, loveless encounter.

_No!_

Dorian dug his hands into Alexander’s back and rocked his hips defiantly into the man’s own. He would not allow that parallel to ruin this. Alexander was nothing like those men. Alex was sweet and a little bit of a fool, but he was kind, loving, and someone Dorian desired with his entire minds as he once had with his body.

“Alex,” Dorian whispered to cement himself into this moment. The man muttered the mage’s name in return.

Their coupling was rushed, frantic, and tinged with desperation. In short, it was everything it shouldn’t have been. They had been lovers for months and were well versed in pleasuring the other. Each knew with certainty what places the other adored to have kissed and licked, which places laid on the border of acceptable and uncomfortable, and which would drive the other to a quick climax.

But even at their least coordinated, the underlying love was still there, at least for Dorian. Each time he felt his mind start to wander down that dark path, he would gasp into Alex’s ear and follow it up with a breathless chant of the other’s name. Alex too would respond with pants coupled with Dorian’s name as if both men needed the reminder that what was happening was real. For all that they stumbled through the sex Dorian would not have changed it for the world. It wasn’t what it had been but it was a starting point at the least.

When all was said and done and Dorian was curled underneath his cloak in front of Alexander on the floor, tucked underneath the man’s arm and kept in place with a thick thigh, Dorian knew that he had been deluding himself. Things were far from fine.  And he had no idea how to fix it.

Dorian reached up to tangle his fingers with Alex’s own curled beneath the mage’s chin. He pressed their palms flat together to cover the flickers of green light that emanated from Alex’s left palm. The almost-electric feeling buzzed up Dorian’s arm and sent reassuring sparks into his being at the familiar touch.

“Dorian.” The mage jumped at Alex’s soft voice. He had thought the other asleep.

He brushed a soft kiss to Alex’s hand and hummed back an answering, “Yes?”

Dorian felt Alex shift closer behind him and then the man spoke, an echo from earlier betraying the man’s fear, “Forgive me?”

Dorian fell silent. He stared across the dirt floor of the small den they had claimed as theirs and took in everything around him. The stone walls that were coated in cracked eggshell blue plaster, the cluttered remains of broken furniture along the walls while the hearth burned the rest in a low fire, the closed door beyond which Cassandra and the Iron Bull slept, and Alexander pressed against his spine, the man’s sparking hand they only part Dorian could see.

He felt the dull ache growing at the base of his spine, the heavy weight of Alex’s muscled thigh over his own, and the soft puffs of air that tickled the hairs at his nape as Alex waited for his answer.

Outside the storm raged on and would likely do so for the better part of the night. Alex was silent behind him and Dorian could hear the howling of the wind that had so disturbed him when laid bare to its force outside. Tucked next to Alex and surrounded by the stone walls, Dorian could imagine for a moment that they were back in Trevelyan’s quarters in Skyhold during one of the mountain storms that buffeted the keep on occasion. The comparison soothed him and finally brought his answer to his lips.

He closed his eyes. “I do.”

 

***

 

Even after making up with Alex in Emprise du Lion, things remained awkward to say the least. Dorian spent the days following the outing stumbling over his interactions with Alex, unable to recapture the easy rhythm they had once shared. Despite Dorian’s promise for something “better”, it seemed that his and Alex’s new relationship was doomed to failure. Or, at the very least, doomed to be no more than a passing relationship rather than the bright bond it had been.

Since that night, Dorian had only spent one night in the same bed with the man, and even then the two had gone no further than cautious touches through their sleepwear. Today, Dorian was determined to make a second attempt and retired to the Inquisitor’s quarters hours before the man himself was to retire.

He spent the better part of an hour pacing around the room while he waited for evening to come, constant loops around the room as he took in details that he had already long since committed to memory. When the sun had begun to sink below the tallest peaks and the keep’s bell chimed the seventh hour, Dorian made a move to undress for the evening.

He pulled his leather underarmor off and exchanged them for a pair of cotton trousers laid on top of the bed. _Alex’s most likely_ , Dorian thought when he pulled the lightly wrinkled material on. He had been looking for a night shirt to borrow, still not ready to be bare in front of the Inquisitor, when he found it in Alex’s chest of drawers.

Dorian had been shifting through the rough-spun, cotton weave shirts when his fingers had grazed over the soft touch of silk. Thinking he had found Alexander’s one silk nightshirt, he had grasped the fabric and tugged it free from the bottom of the stack.

Dorian realized that it was not a shirt in his hand but a small bundle of silk wrapped around a fist sized object. He rolled the round bundle between his palms and looked it over with confusion. Alexander had obviously unwrapped and rewrapped the bundle numerous times: the once smooth surface of the pale yellow material had become a patchwork of sharp edges and creases from the man’s rough handling.

Dorian couldn’t remember seeing it before but then the last time he had gone through Alexander’s belongings had been before the man’s trip to the Exalted Plains. Shaking the thought off before the residual fear could grab ahold of him again, Dorian instead focused on his curiosity.

Guiltily, he looked over his shoulder to see if Alex had suddenly returned to the room for the evening, but all was the same within the room.

 _A peak couldn’t hurt._ He plucked at the tucked in ends of the soft material and began to pull it free. It took several revolutions before the end of the scarf slipped away from the item.A plain white box, far smaller than Dorian’s palm, fell into his hand. He froze. The yellow scarf, loosely wound around his fingers, slipped from his lax grasp like a cascading waterfall to the floor.

Without conscious thought, his hand reached out and flipped the top off of the box. Again, he stalled at what was revealed. A ring—the ring Alexander had attempted to give him all those weeks ago, when things were still easy between them. The time before Dorian had lashed out and Alex had presumed too much, and they both nearly destroyed everything.

Neither man had mentioned the ring—or courtship—since that night in Emprise du Lion, and Dorian had assumed that he would never see the ring again. _How wrong I was._

Dorian pulled the band free and laid it atop his palm. It hardly weighted anything and yet it pulled down his mind and shoulders in equal measure. He was dimly aware of dropping the box atop the drawer’s nest of shirts before he stumbled blindly to the bed.

He collapsed atop the neatly made bed when his legs suddenly gave out beneath him. All the while his gaze remained firmly affixed onto the rounded band and its pale crystal.

It was only now that he had the ring in his hand that he could feel the tug of magic at his senses. This enchantment, unlike the one over the snake broach, the mage was familiar with: it was a ring of magical enhancement, one far more powerful than the metal ring Dorian had acquired at Val Chevon when he first entered Orlais.

Looking at that stone band Dorian knew with unshakeable certainty that he had two options: he could pretend that he had never found the ring, wrap it back into the soft silk scarf and burry it at the bottom of the drawer as Alex had done; or he could confront Alex about it as he had before: with anger and accusations, and a mind unwilling to listen to reason. But as he gazed at the band of stone another idea crept into his mind.

He could accept the ring as he could have when Alex first offered but this would be an act of his own volition. It was not a decision that Alexander had made for them both,; it would be the Dorian accepting not because his lover wished it but because he, Dorian of house Pavus, wished to.

It was a frightening thought and caused his palms to sweat with the courage and love that it would require, but if the past week had shown him anything it was that he had both in spares for Alex—for his amatus.

He lost track of time seated atop the bed, the ring cradled in his left palm while both were supported by his right. His shoulders hunched over the small piece of stone and his eyes did not waver from the pale green of its crystal.

The sun had begun to set by the time Dorian moved again. The pale evening light crept through the ornate glasswork of the doors and was transformed into a wonder of colors spread across the stone floor.

With a shaking right hand he lifted the ring from his palm and slid it onto his left index finger—the customary place for Intent rings in Tevinter. Then Dorian shifted over the sheets, settling on the side of the bed closest to the staircase, and waited.

It was late in the evening by the time Dorian heard Alexander’s slow footsteps dragging up the stairs as the man retired for the night. It was, Dorian knew, a weakness the man only allowed with a solid barrier of wood between himself and the rest of the Keep. Dorian wondered if the man would have shown that same weakness to him in their current state. He didn’t think so.

Perched on the edge of the bed, inches away from overbalancing, Dorian made sure he was the first thing Alexander saw when he crested the floor level.

“Dorian,” Alex said with a tired smile, the corners of his lips barely rising in muted suprise. But it was his eyes that Dorian focused on. The once vibrant shade of blue had dulled considerably since the man’s trip to the Plains— _and even earlier than that_ —an awful distance to their depths that had remained even after their reconciliation in Emprise du Lion.

The sight made guilt and remorse swell in the mage’s heart but he was able to curb the onset of deeper emotions with a thought. _I can fix that—I’m going to._

The mage held out his left hand in offering to the other man, palm facing the floor, silently begging for Alex to hold it. Alexander took it with another smile, this one more intimate than the previous, but the man froze when their hands connected. It had only taken a moment for Alex to notice the ring around the mage’s finger.

Suddenly, Alexander collapsed on the bed, his full body weight falling atop a single curled knee that could no longer support the man. Both of Alex’s hands came up to cradle Dorian’s left and the mage waited as the man explored the object with shaking fingers.

Alexander stroked the ring as if it were too foreign for his mind to comprehend, an object he had never seen before. The man spun the ring between calloused digits, Alexander’s thick fingers exploring every inch of Dorian’s with a slow hesitancy.

Finally, Dorian spoke, “No more of this dreadful silence. Ask me properly so that I can answer.”

Alex gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing with the harsh movement. When he spoke it was with a waver to his voice. “Dorian, would you accept this, my gift of Intent?”

“Intent for…?” Dorian pushed. _Let it all be laid out now rather than lurk over us forever._

“Marriage. To one day have you as my own, and mine alone,” Alex said. “And for me to be yours. Entirely?”

The man’s fingers crept into the spaces between Dorian’s own. The mage could see the slightest glint of green and dark brown between the tangled lock of their fingers. But he felt the smooth band of stone around his finger whether he saw it or not.

Dorian lifted their clasped hands to his lips and brushed soft kisses over the knuckles not minding when he hit his own on the way to Alex’s.  A hitched breath escaped Alexander and Dorian knew it for what it was—a sob.

Dorian shifted atop Alexander with his knees braced in the sheets next to the man’s hips, desiring to be physically closer to the man. To offer what comfort he could.

“I would.” Both an echo and a new assertion at once. From Alexander’s awe-struck expression he understood. Another strangled breath escaped from Alexander before Dorian swept down and covered Trevelyan’s full lips with his own.

Alex’s hands rose and Dorian felt them settle on his hips, right along the ridge of the bone.

 _Still too cautious,_ Dorian thought. The Alexander from before would have already had his hands on the crease between the mage’s thighs and ass, one of the man’s favorite places on the mage. But this was not the same Alex and nor was Dorian the same. Not even their coupling in Emprise du Lion had been that way.

Dorian grabbed the strands of Alex’s fine red hair in his grasp and pulled the man’s head back. Dorian hummed in approval when Alex gasped from the rough action. He peppered kisses along tanned skin, lingering on the man’s adam’s apple to lavish the area in quick, fluttering presses. Nipping delicately at the skin there, Dorian pulled back.

“Make me yours.”

Dorian had only a moment to take in Alex’s wide eyes, the ring of white around the bright blue irises that shrunk by the second, and the dark flush spreading beneath them before his view was overtaken.

Alex launched himself at the mage, his larger frame easily knocking the mage flat atop the bed in a single move. The mattress shook beneath them from the sudden move. Arms corded with muscle wrapped around Dorian’s shoulders and the mage was overwhelmed by Alex when the man pulled him close.

“Thank you,” Alex whispered against Dorian’s hair. “Oh, Dorian.”

Dorian turned his face into Alex’s neck and nuzzled against the skin. The faint smell of sweat and parchment overlaid by the pungent smell of elfroot— _Alex’s healing potions, no doubt_ —filled his nose. It was a smell Dorian had sorely missed. He felt Alex’s faint heartbeat against his cheek and wondered if his own was fluttering so rapidly.

Dorian raised his legs and tucked his knees against the man’s sides, the move locking them together. He crooned in approval when Alexander shifted to align their hips together with short rolls of the man’s pelvis. They settled into place, the pair caught in that moment, simply breathing in one another.

Then Dorian shifted beneath Alex. The spell broken, the mage reached down to grab Alex’s ass in a cheeky move that earned him a tight squeeze before Alex withdrew his arms from around the mage. Leveraging onto his elbows, Alex gazed down at the mage with a soft look that caused an answering flutter in Dorian’s chest.

A soft kiss was pressed against Dorian’s lips as Alex whispered, “and me, yours.”

It was so saccharine that Dorian couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking off into a moan when Alex thrust his hips sharply down into the mage’s own. If that was his punishment for enjoying his lover’s honesty, then Dorian would gladly do it again. So he did.

“Really,” Alex huffed but was betrayed by the smile dancing on his lips. It was a small, private thing, but it stole Dorian’s breath. He was helpless to fight against the urge to kiss it, trapping that small piece of intimacy between their lips.

Distracted as he was with Alexander’s mouth, Dorian didn’t notice the hands creeping under the waistband of his loose sleep pants. With a jerk of Alex’s hands Dorian lost his last piece of clothing and was laid bare beneath his lover for the first time in weeks. The multiple layers to the Inquisitor’s armor were another matter entirely.

“Maker damn the man who invented _latches,”_ Dorian said. There had to have been more than a dozen of them lined down the front of Trevelyan’s coat. The mage barely had the patience to undo six before he was tugging the stiff material over Alex’s head. Alex, bless him, merely laughed.

“Easy, Dorian,” Alex said and pulled the shirt over his head. The man tossed it away and rocked back onto his heels to undo the laces on his pants himself.  When Dorian reached out to help, he was rebuffed.

A hand pressed against the center of Dorian’s chest and pushed him back against the small mound of pillows behind him. He opened his mouth to complain but Alex stole his tirade with a simple word, “watch”.

Who was Dorian to argue?

Smiling coyly, Alex hooked his thumbs into the loose waistband and slowly tugged the thick material down. Dorian was riveted on each inch of skin Alex reveled through his little strip tease. He growled when Alex stopped just below the curls at the base of his dick and reached out with his own fingers to finish the job.

Dorian slid his hands into the space at the back of the pants, hands cupping taught flesh and purring in approval when Alex jumped at the contact. A sharp jerk of the mage’s wrist had the beige pants pooling above Alex’s knees.

Using his hold on Alex, Dorian urged the man to lower himself until he settled over the mage. Dorian reveled in the warmth and pressure grounding him and pressing him into the feathered mattress. He felt Alex shift above him as he shimmied out of the last of his clothes and Dorian let out a breathless giggle at the feel. It quickly turned into a moan when Alex ground down into him.

Dorian had a second to register the arms wrapped tightly around his frame before his world spun. Alexander rolled them over and the man’s calloused hands roamed down to the small of Dorian’s back, thumbs pressing into the dimples right above Dorian’s ass.

“Up,” Alex urged and pressed against Dorian’s flushed skin to get him to comply.

The mage shuffled forward on his knees until they tucked neatly beneath Alex’s muscled arms, but Alex kept pulling. Dorian had to slap his hands against the stone wall above the head of the bed to avoid falling onto Alex. “What are you—“

Dorian broke off with a gasp when Alex took him into his mouth. The mage’s arm shook and he was forced to lean his forearms against the wall to maintain his elevated position.  Moans and gasps dripped from his lips as Alex suck and swirled his tongue around the mage’s length.

 _I taught him too well,_ Dorian thought with a self-satisfied purr.  A particularly strong suck had his eyes slamming shut.

Dorian shifted his weight onto his left forearm, and he brought his free hand down to run through Alex’s red locks. He was hardly conscious of the words spilling from his lips, only catching every third phrase or so. “So beautiful…Maker, Alex you were born for this...so good, your mouth… _ah._ ”

At the last outburst, Alexander pulled back and Dorian switched to curses. His hips jerked forward at the loss of the wet warmth and a tumble of words fell from his lips, “No, back. Damn you, I was so close.”

Alex let out a gravely laugh and Dorian dropped to sit on the man’s chest. He leaned down and captured Alex’s soft lips with his own. He slid his tongue into Alex’s mouth and was welcomed by the man’s own, the two exchanging lazy strokes. The slick sounds from their kisses filled Dorian’s ears and sent his pulse racing.

Dorian pulled Alex’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged on it as he pulled back, finishing off with a sharp bite to the already abused flesh. Alex raised a hand to the bright red flesh and pressed his thumb into the same spot Dorian had bitten.

Blue eyes jumped to lock onto Dorian’s and Dorian moaned at the sheer want contained in the wide pools of black.

Dorian felt pressure at his entrance and let out a keen at the bold touch. Alexander slipped an oil coated finger into his entrance and stretched the muscles with gentle tugs.

“When?” Dorian asked dazed.  He hadn’t noticed the man grabbing their bottle of oil.

Alex merely chuckled and added another slick finger. It was too soon and Dorian stifled his hiss of pain by lavishing Alex’s neck and collar bone with kisses. He paused to suck a bright bruise on the muscle that connected the man’s neck to his shoulder and leaned back to admire the oval shape. He added three more.

“I’m not candy, Dorian,” Alex joked beneath him.

Dorian let out an indignant ‘humph’ and would have responded further had Alex not crocked his fingers just so.  The mage arched his spine and his legs trembled at the first touch against his prostate.

Dorian felt Alex’s fingers withdraw but he didn’t have a chance to mourn their loss before three entered him with a soft, wet sound. Alex dribbled more oil to coat his probing fingers and ease their slide into the mage’s body. Dorian felt the excess oil spread across his inner thighs and shivered at the cool touch to his inflamed skin.

Alex stretched him open with whispered words of encouragement and praise and the gentle reverence that Dorian had sorely missed. It was the perfect mix of gentle words and almost rough touches that had him near babbling at times. They quickly developed a rhythm, Dorian pushing counter to every one of Alex’s probes.

“Deeper,” Dorian huffed before capturing Alex’s lips in an off-center kiss. He paused to suck on the spot he had bitten and added an extra nip that caused Alex’s finger to thrust deeper at the unexpected bite. Dorian moaned at the sensation and begged, “again.”

“Of course,” Alex said and Dorian would have hit him for the smug reply if the man hadn’t complied. Dorian felt his eyelashes flutter at the deep probe and barely caught the tail end of Alex’s next words. “Maker, that I get to see this, that you still want me.”

Dorian’s breathing turned ragged as Alex’s fingers continued to swipe against his prostate while the man’s thumb rubbed circles into his perineum on every third stroke. It was too much. “ _Alex_.”

“Shit.” Alex pulled his fingers from Dorian’s hole but even the rough movement sent Dorian’s pulse racing and he almost lost it despite his best efforts.

Dorian could do little more than shudder on top of Alex as his heart raced from the almost orgasm. His hands dug into Alex’s biceps as he tried to ground himself against the mess of endorphins running roughshod in his body.

“Shh, shh,” Alex cooed. His calloused hands stroked Dorian’s flank in long, broad sweeps, darting up to rub circles into the man’s lower back to calm the mage down. Dorian backed away from the edge in inches only nodding when he felt his heart settle into a more reasonable cadence.

He wrapped his arms around Alex’s shoulders and leaned back until Alex got the hint and lowered them onto the mattress. “Like this. Want to feel you.”

In response he felt Alex press down harder and Dorian groaned at the feel of corded muscles pressing against his own.  Alex nudged his legs apart and brought them to splay over the man’s muscled thighs.

 _Like tree-trunks,_ Dorian thought with a near delirious giggle. He must have said it as well because Alex froze for a moment before laughing joyously. It made Dorian smile. He could not remember the last time he had felt so carefree during sex and his heart swelled with the knowledge that it was only possible with Alex.

Dorian reached down with his hand to line Alex’s cock up to his entrance, giving a final press and rub to the tip with his thumb as he did so. A hand on his face startled him and brought his gaze up from where it had been admiring the sight of Alex’s cock so close to his entrance.

Alex’s thumb stroked the thin skin beneath Dorian’s right eye and Alex brought his forehead down to rest against the mage’s own.

“Ready?”

A shaky breath. “Yes.”

Dorian was ensnared by the ring of blue inches away from his eyes and could only stare at Alex’s eyes as Trevelyan slowly pushed into him. The burn of the stretch registered in the back of his mind, but Dorian was far more concerned with the waves of pleasure as Alex worked in a few inches just to pull out again. With the gentle rocking motion, the man sheathed himself fully. Within moments Alex was pressed flush against him, hips cradling Dorian’s ass, and holding still while both caught their breath. Alex, as usual, remained in place far beyond what Dorian could endure.

“Amatus,” Dorian said. It was both a signal that he was ready for more and a word of endearment.

Alex started with slow, shallow thrusts that he had to know drove Dorian mad with want. Dorian was hardly soothed by the fact that it seemed to cost Alex a great deal to restrain himself if his bright flush and gapping mouth were anything to go by. It was a waiting game to see which would break first: Dorian’s impatience or Alex’s want.

“Maker damn you, _move_.” Dorian hardly felt bad about losing the silly game when it got Alex to pick up the speed and increase the force behind his thrusts.  Dorian rocked down into each of Alex’s harder thrusts and let out a near continuous keen at the feel of the head of Alex’s cock rubbing against his prostate.

“’M heart,” Dorian muttered against Alex’s neck as Trevelyan moved in long, hard thrusts. He couldn’t tell if he was calling Alex his heart or if it was in reference to how fast his own was beating. It felt like his heart might burst from his chest and he clung tighter to Alex in response.

“My Dorian,” and there was that honesty again.

 _Maker, Alex is trying to make my heart burst_ , Dorian knew it

One of Alex’s arms hooked underneath Dorian’s thigh and pulled it higher to change his angle and Dorian _shouted._ He could barely see Alex’s crooked grin through the slits his eyes had become as pleasure spiked low in his gut. Blindly he reached out to tug Alex’s face to his own and kiss the man senseless. His lips caught on the raised edge of the man’s scar on his cheek and he followed it down to a soft pair of lips that were spread wide on a gasp.

“Perfect, perfect. Maker, how are you so good?” Dorian couldn’t have said who spoke those words but they were true for either.

Dorian shifted his hold on Alexander and drew his legs up higher over the man’s hips. He loosely wrapped his calves around Alex’s muscular waist and used the hold to push the man deeper.

He forced his eyes open to take in his lover’s face. A bright red flush covered Alex’s cheeks and had spread to cover the man’s ears, but it was his eyes that Dorian focused on. Only the thinnest line of blue remained around the pupil, but Dorian could still read the look in them: love, desire, and a reverence that had to be sacrilegious coming from the Herald of Andraste. Dorian opened his mouth to remark on it, but a particularly hard thrust against his prostate caused his mouth the close with a sharp click of teeth.

“Love you,” Alex breathed against his ear and Dorian saw white. His spine arched off the mattress until every inch of him was pressed against Alex and he felt suffocated by the man.

“Ah!” Dorian came with a shout. He remained in his taught position for several heartbeats before he melted back into mattress. He sprawled out over the covers, his hands slipping from around Alexander’s back to rest near his head as pleasure sparked through his nerves. “Amatus…”

Dorian took in several shaky breaths as he came down from the unexpected orgasm. He hadn’t thought he was so close, but hearing Alex whisper those words so sweetly had proved to be his undoing. His breathing hitched and his vision flashed out again as Alex continued to thrust into his oversensitive hole, the head of the man’s prick rubbing against his inner walls.

“Please?”

Dorian blinked and cleared the last spots of white from his vision. With great effort he focused on the man above him and the kiss-swollen lips that mouthed the same word over and over. Dorian’s eyebrows furrowed as his destroyed mind tried to piece itself back together enough to understand what Alex wanted. He gave up. “What?”

“In-inside,” Alex gasped, his hips thrusting shallowly. “Please?”

They had never done that before as Dorian always requested Alex pull out before he came. It had seemed too intimate to the mage, an act reserved for something _other_. Perhaps now was the time.

Alex shivered above him as the man tried to hold out for Dorian’s answer. It was that act that cemented the mage’s answer. Dorian ran his hands slowly up Alex’s muscular arms and on until he reached the man’s neck. Cradling Alex’s face between his hands, Dorian pulled the man down until their foreheads rested against one another again.

Alex and he moaned in unison as it shifted Trevelyan’s cock and caused it to brush against his sensitive walls. “Ple—“

“Yes.” It was little more than a breath of air so Dorian tried again. “Come, amatus.”

Alex groaned and resumed his thrusts, picking up speed as he went. Dorian was lost. Caught in the realm between pleasure and too much, he couldn’t decide if he was truly about to die from overstimulation or not. It’d be a hell of a way to go.

With a sharp cry and a final deep thrust, Alex came within Dorian for the first time. Dorian cried out as well at the rush of wet heat. To think that he had deprived himself of this pleasure for so long…what a fool he had been.

Alex pulled out—an answering shiver racing through them both at the feeling—and Dorian let out an ‘oomph’ when Alex collapsed  unevenly on top of the mage.

“Heavy.” he muttered with faux annoyance but betrayed his words by pulling Alex fully on top of him.

Alex pressed fluttering kisses onto Dorian’s face, a steady stream of “love you, love you,” accompanying each press.

Dorian answered with wandering hands and a litany of “amatus, amatus.”

 

***

 

After, lying together with their chests pressed flush against one another and the sheets tucked low over their hips, Dorian let his fingers roam across any skin he could reach. “Any more surprises I should know about?”

Alex went quiet for a moment and Dorian feared that it was too soon, that they were too raw for that kind of joke, and he had undone all of their progress with that one pithy comment just because he could not handle the silence without—

“Just one,” Alex said after a long pause. “Trevelyan courtships…they have one final part.”

“Oh?”

“Do you remember me telling you of my great-grandfather and his elven lover?”

Dorian cast his mind back, the words niggling at the back of his mind and a half-remembered conversation from the Hinterlands. It was the man’s expression, not his words, which came to mind first. The softening at the corners of bright blue eyes, full lips curled and pulled a little crooked on the left-hand side, and the _happiness_ that seemed to radiate from the man’s expression.  Dorian pushed past the warmth that pulsed from the memory of Alex’s face to focus on what he had said. Something about—“Their log cabin?”

“We Trevelyans gift something of wood to our intended partners,” Alex said in an endearing mixture of familial pride and embarrassment. “It’s tradition.”

“Should I expect a wooden bench then?” Dorian teased. _No need for a wooden duck; Cole had already seen to that._ No one need know that Dorian had tucked the toy into the top drawer of his dresser the day he received it. Thankfully, it had escaped his wrath when he tore his room apart.

“Perhaps a practice dummy?” Dorian faked a gasp as if startled by a thought. He hid his growing smile behind a hand to stifle his mirth.  “Is that why you send them to Cassandra? Are you courting her as well?”

“Dorian,” Alex chastised. A rekindled flush spread across Trevelyan’s cheeks and brought out the bright hue of his eyes and Dorian fell a little more in love with him.

“She does read those awful romance novels Varric writes; she might see the appeal. Courted by wooden men. Such a fright.”

“You might think it silly,” Alex said, his voice verging on the edge of indignation. That, coupled with their intimate hold, had Dorian fighting back the laughter rising in his throat. He buried his face in Alexander’s chest to stem the chuckles against sweat slick skin, turning them into faint giggles. After a moment, Alex joined in with his own rasping laugh.

Dorian couldn’t have said what was so funny. Surely not the Trevelyans’ tradition. No, Dorian could respect that even if he couldn’t quite understand it. The Imperium and the house of Pavus would never have such a soft courting not when their goal was to breed the next Archon. Perhaps among the Soporati there were such traditions, but Dorian did not know of them. To have Alexander share such an aspect of himself and his family with Dorian was…amazing.

Coupled with the joy that refused to diffuse from his gut, laughter came easily to the mage’s throat. Finally, he and Alex had found their “better” relationship.

“No,” Dorian breathed once he had calmed down. He dragged his fingers across Alex’s chest and startled at the sight of green and black around his index finger. His eyes caught on the crystal and followed the motions of his finger as he moved it across the tanned skin in dizzying circles. “Not silly at all. I quite look forward to it.”

 

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written a sex scene so I hope both of them came out alright. 
> 
> One final act to go before the end!


	6. ACT VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding home both is and isn't as hard as Dorian thought

 

Dorian seated himself on the floor in front of the full-length mirror the next morning. He curled his leather clad legs underneath him to support his weight and leaned forward a few inches. He scowled at the smudges of black beneath his eyes and used a cloth to wipe the make-up away with short irritable swipes. He registered a shift in the air behind him moments before a warm pair of lips brushed against his nape.

“Good morning,” Alex breathed, the words little more than a grumble from his sleep-hoarse throat.

Dorian managed a hummed “m’rning” in response, focused as he was on his morning ritual.

Alexander lingered, pressing soft kisses against tanned skin as Dorian drew a stick of linen wrapped kohl along his eyelid with precise motions. The man only fell back when Dorian moved onto his hair, the mage playfully pushing his lover away to work on the sleep mussed locks. However, Alex did not move far. He hovered behind Dorian for a moment before he reached out for the mage’s left hand, all of which Dorian spied through the mirror.

When soft lips brushed against his hand he was instantly reminded of the ring that still encircled his index finger. Dorian watched Alex fiddled with the ring, a dazed smile overtaking Trevelyan’s features as he did so. Alex bestowed a final kiss to the pale crystal and then retreated to gather his reports for the morning from his desk.

The rest of the morning passed in comfortable silence, and before Dorian knew it both he and Alex were preparing to leave their haven. Alex descended the stairs first and Dorian followed close behind but drew to a stop mid-descent.

The mage glanced down at the magic infused crystal wrapped around his finger and felt a flash of unease. _If I wear it out there…_

Dorian had slid the band off and was in the process of tucking it away into his breast pocket before he left the room when Alexander looked back, perhaps sensing that the mage was no longer following him.  Alexander’s expression would remain with Dorian for the entire day.

The look of confusion and hurt that overtook Alex’s features caused a surge of guilt to spike in his heart. But Dorian did not stop. Dorian dropped the ring into his inner breast pocket and descended down the stairs to stand beside his lover. Words, however, failed him. He could do little but offer a weak grimace, praying that Alexander let him have his silence.

Alexander’s reaction had him wishing to take it all back. The man deflated at the gesture, shoulders dropping beneath the thick fur collar of his coat for a heartbeat, two, four, and his gaze dropped to the pocket in question. For Dorian, the moment seemed to drag on for an eternity, but it could not have been more than half a minute before the defeated look passed from Alexander’s face.

The man drew his spine straight, somewhere between Alex and Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan, and offered his arm to the mage. Hesitating a moment, Dorian took it and placated his growing nerves with the knowledge that he would drop the hold once they had reached the final door to the Great Hall.

 

***

 

Dorian fingered the ring in his pocket, slipping the body-warmed stone band over his index finger and spinning the crystal on top with his thumb. He never wore the ring during the day but he always slipped it on when alone with the Inquisitor at night.

The mage wished he could wear it with pride. Wished he could flaunt the mark as the sign of devotion it was to those who whispered, but he could not. His experiences in Tevinter saw to that.

He had not lied to the Inquisitor on their first night together but he had not told all there was on the matter either. Relationships between men in Tevinter were merely about pleasure but to ask for anything more was a dangerous choice. At best, one was met with sneers and quick ends to any arrangement; at worst…well, more than a few men had been ruined and disappeared when scandals surfaced.

Dorian still vividly remembered his own first earnest attempt. His name had been Julius Leadum, an Altus Dorian had known from the Circle at Minrathous, and one of Dorian’s lovers back when he had not known the way of things. When he thought that a shared orgasm or two meant that the other man cared for him beyond the physical. He had not. When Dorian had asked to meet the man outside of his estate for a night in town, Julius had sneered and called for a servant to show him the out as if he had become an unwanted guest in the seconds it took to speak his request.

“You shame yourself, Pavus,” the man had said with lips still swollen from Dorian’s mustache. “This is physical, nothing more. What did you expect to come from this dalliance? Maker, they told me you were intelligent, boy.”

The look of derision on the man’s face had shocked the young mage and even as he had been escorted from the premise he could not truly believe that such a scene had occurred. The reality of the situation had only set in the next week when he had tried to confront Julius on his behavior only to be snubbed and ignored by the man. The lesson had been more than clear and Dorian had not dared to ask for more since. Not even with Relenus.

“What has captured your thoughts, Dorian?” Alex asked, a gloved hand brushing over the mage’s cheek and shocking the man from his daze. “And taken you so far from me?”

 _How long have I been sitting here thinking?_ Dorian thought, blinking dazedly at the bed on which he sat. He had only meant to sit a moment while the Inquisitor finished his work for the evening before their date. He had not meant to fall into such melancholic thoughts.

“It is nothing,” Dorian said, pulling the hand away from his face to hold between his own. He laced their fingers together with his left hand and with the other cradled the joined pair. “I’m sorry I have been such poor company, amatus.”

“Your presence alone is more than enough for me,” Alex teased and tugged the mage off of the bed by their joined hands. Dorian snorted at the man’s comment and received a small grin in response, but the other still gazed down at Dorian with a pair of concerned eyes.

“Now, I was promised a date, my lord Inquisitor. I suggest we get going,” Dorian said, eager to steer the conversation away from his thoughts for both their sakes. A date couldn’t start on such melancholic footing after all. “Unless it’s to take place here?”

A part of him hoped that was so. Alone in the inquisitor’s bedroom they could do anything and not worry about being overheard. They were surrounded by the thick stone walls and the lengthy stretch of staircase leading down to the nearest occupied floor ensured that they would not be interrupted.

“No, I had something special in mind.” With that the Inquisitor led the mage by the hand—the same one with the ring on the index finger—from the room.

The mage gave a few tugs at their joined hands but ultimately let his hand rest in Alex’s. It was unlikely that anyone would be out at the late hour, and the route Alex took was devoid of even the servants. Alex took a few more turns, navigating the labyrinthine passages of the keep with ease, finally reaching a wooden door Dorian had not seen before.

The Inquisitor pushed it open and led the mage down a final short passage before coming out onto a small balcony directly below the Inquisitor’s own hundreds of meters above. It overlooked the garden with a small staircase that led down to the grounds tucked into the corner of the small space. It was cleverly hidden behind the much larger balcony Dorian was used to, but that was not all the mage noticed.

A thick wool rug had been laid over the low stone railing with a few pillows placed on the broad ledge to act as makeshift seats for their date. A wicker basket sat off to the side and half a dozen lit candles had been placed around the area to provide a little illumination for the pair. It was simple and so very true to Alexander that it brought a smile to the mage’s lips.

“I thought we could enjoy the night and the garden without the usual crowds,” Alex said and walked over to the makeshift couch taking a seat. Still joined by the hand, Dorian had little option but to follow after the man’s lead.

“The view would have been much better from your balcony,” Dorian said eyeing the aforementioned piece of stone work from their lower position.

A frown flashed over Trevelyan’s features and a look of hurt took over soon after. “Dorian, I will not hide away in my own chambers whenever I wish to be with you.”

Dorian took a step back, pulling his hand from Alexander’s now lax grip. Empty, his hand felt far colder without the other man’s touch and he tucked it under his bicep when he crossed his arms.  He said with as much levity as he could manage, “it was merely an observation, Alex.”

“It was not,” Alex said, not letting Dorian brush the matter aside. “You act as if you’re ashamed to be with me, Dorian.”

“I am not,” Dorian said, but his words became sharp. “I just know a little of discretion. You would do well to learn of it, your worship.”

“It’s not discretion, Pavus. It is cowardice,” Alex said. A look of fright crossed his face and he held up a hand to stem Dorian’s words. “That was not what I meant.”

“Then pray tell me, what did you mean?”

“Why did you agree to this? To this relationship, to my advances and proposal,” Alex said in a sharp, fast tone. “Why did you ask for more if you only want to be together in secret?”

“Our affair is hardly secret, Alex,” Dorian said, standing once more. Alex followed him up and stood with his gloved hands resting on his hips.

“But you act as if it is!” the words exploded from the Inquisitor who paced in short circles in front of the mage. “The entire keep knows of us if even just by rumor and yet you push me away and reject me whenever I seek to so much as hold you in public. It _hurts_ , Dorian.”

The agony the man managed to convey in that one term rattled Dorian to his core. The man’s blue eyes were lined by frustration and pain which Dorian himself had brought to the other. The two stood in silence while Dorian tried to find his voice.

Alex brought a hand up to his forehead, rubbing the leather gloves against the lines creasing the skin. “If I…am not what you want, then please, tell me now that I might save you the displeasure of keeping this up.”

“That’s not what I want,” Dorian said. “Being with you is not unpleasant, Alex.”

“Then why can I not hold you, kiss you, outside of my chambers where none shall see? Why are you so ashamed of us?” that was the second time the man had asked that question but the fraught emotion in the man’s voice grabbed the mage’s attention.

“I asked to court you, Dorian,” Alex said, voice low and rough. “And you accepted my advances and I thought…I thought that we were finally past this.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, your worship,” Dorian snapped back but Alex was already shaking his head.

“None of that, Dorian. No more deflecting, no more hiding. I need you to be honest with me because I am going to be as plain as I can with you.

“I love you,” and the words still stole the mage’s breath no matter how often the other said them, but Alex’s next words took Dorian’s air for far less pleasant reasons. “But I cannot do this. I cannot have you accept to be my everything but not acknowledge that in front of others. This is not Tevinter, Dorian.”

“I know that,” Dorian snapped. _What right did the man have to bring that up?_ “But Ferelden is not so different from the Imperium.”

“Isn’t it?” Alex asked quietly. “I’m not saying that it will be easy, I am not that naïve, but we have a chance to be something here. Something _more_. Whatever you may think of the rest of Skyhold or its people, you need to decide if what we have is more important than what others say.

“I will stand by you every step of the way, Dorian, shoulder every whisper and slight with you so long as we can do it together. You don’t have to endure this alone, Dorian.

 

Dorian made a noise to interrupt but Alex continued on in a far softer tone, "It is not your problem, but ours.”

Before Dorian could answer noises from the lower garden stole his attention. He glanced down over his left shoulder and froze at the sight of a group of soldiers passing through the garden having entered from the lower door that led into the Mage’s Tower. Almost simultaneously, a small group of nobles led by Mother Giselle exited from the shrine below the balcony. Their wide skirts, masks, and the revered mother’s metal hat embellishments flashed in the torch light as they walked across the grounds.

 _Had Alex planned this?_ The thought caused Dorian’s eyes to jump to the other man but the look of surprise on the man’s own features killed the theory before it could take off. It was merely chance—or fate—that brought the groups there that late.

It was then that Dorian noticed that the two men still stood next to the balcony having not moved since Alex began his speech.

Scenarios flashed through the mage’s mind, ways in which he could play off the situation as platonic should the people looked up and see them. It would take a miracle for the groups not to notice the pair as Alexander’s anchor had begun sparking in response to his wildly fluctuating emotions. In the dark evening, the bright green light acted as a beacon and would draw all eyes to his position.

While Dorian thought, he heard several surprised gasps below as the people noticed the Inquisitor and his companion.

_The candles would be easy to explain, but the pillows? Our closeness? Far harder._

Dorian drew a foot behind himself to step back and place a few feet of space between the two men but a glance at Alexander’s face stopped him.

As if privy to all of the mage’s thoughts, Alex’s face began to shut down. His blue eyes grew hazy and distant and even the frown was pulled from his lips. Dorian was left facing a blank slate and it frightened him.

He saw with perfect clarity in that moment what his future would be if he continued to deny his relationship with Alex. From the look on the other’s face, there would be no relationship if he stepped back. That terrible blank look would replace the soft smiles Alex bestowed upon him so often. No longer would the man gaze adoringly at the mage or press soft kisses to his many scars and freckles while speaking sweets words. Dorian could not imagine those lips curling around those cherished words—“I love you”— when they pressed into such a firm line.

Could he live without that? Could he live with himself if he stole that sense of joy and love not only from himself but from Alexander?

 _No._ The force of the thought reached down to his very soul and seared the answer in his mind and throat. _No, no._

His leg began to shake and he pressed it firmly back in place to stem the movement. With a shaking left hand—the one with the ring and the one closest to the prying eyes—Dorian cradled the man’s cheek.

“I am proud to call you mine, amatus,” Dorian spoke with as much volume and conviction as he could manage and drew the man in for a kiss.

Alex shattered against him but for a far more preferable reason. The man’s left hand rose to cradle Dorian’s on his cheek, the touch carrying with it the customary tingle of magic from the mark. Alex rested his chest against Dorian's and synchronized their breathing within moments.

They kissed and the world did not end. The sky did not gain another tear and while Mother Giselle made a displeased grunt below them, for once Dorian did not care. Forget the rest of the world. He could have this moment.

As Alex’s tongue brushed against his own, Dorian came to another realization. He would have countless other moments like this from now on.

 

***

 

Once the wine had been drunk and the decadent pastries (courtesy of Josephine, Dorian was told) had been eaten, Alex walked Dorian back to the mage’s quarters. During the short walk Dorian grasped onto Alex’s hand like a lifeline as the last tremors left the mage’s body. The keep's bell had long since stopped chiming, signifying that it was well into the evening or perhaps the early hours of the morning by the time the pair reached the mage's quarters.

Alex pushed Dorian against the wooden doorway and the two fell into one another easily, trading sweet kisses and soft crooning noises as they forgot about the rest of the Keep. Alex pulled back from Dorian’s lips to trail a string of soft kisses across the mage’s cheek to his ear. Dorian felt the soft puffs of air against the sensitive skin and shivered at the small intimacy.

“You were so very brave, Dorian,” Alex cooed into the mage’s ear and punctuated the statement with a reverent kiss.

“You were worth it, amatus,” Dorian said on a final shaky exhale. The adrenaline from the encounter left his body with that final exchange and Dorian finally felt at ease in his skin. “ _We_ are worth it.”

Alex pulled back and the look of pride on his face brought an embarrassed flush to Dorian’s face. He had not seen such a look since his father’s expression when Dorian passed his final test to become an Altus. To see such an unabashed look of pride on his amatus’ face was enough to weaken his knees and send his heart skittering. 

“How did I get so lucky?” 

"Well, I think you've earned such a prize what with fighting an archdemon and its darkwspawn master," Dorian teased.

"That hardly seems fair to you. It seems I got the far better end of the bargain--a gorgeous mage" here Alex punctuated the remark with a soft kiss to Dorian's beauty mark "whose too good to me by half. You just received a fool."

"But one who knows how to kiss." Dorian craned his neck to capture Alex's lips once more and greedily swallowed the breathy laugh the other let loose.

Alex tucked his face back into the space next to Dorian’s ear. “I have your final gift ready, Dorian.”

The mage hummed, distracted by the warm air brushing against the shell of his ear. It took him another few moments before he caught on to what Alex had said. “Already?”

“Come to my rooms tomorrow, by the third bell,” Alex said. “Please.”

“Of course,” Dorian purred. He pulled the taller man down into a rough kiss, his tongue running along the seam of the man’s lips but never pressing further even when the man let out a soft whine at the tease. Dorian pulled back and arched into Alex’s larger frame and smirked in victory when a soft gasp escaped from the man.

Dorian’s gaze was caught on the man’s full lips spread wide over the breath of air. They had been rubbed bright red by Dorian’s moustache and shone with saliva. Truly, the Herald of Andraste looked anything but. No longer a symbol, but a man encircled in his lover’s arms who gasped when their erections pressed against one another.

“Then again, I could always just come to your rooms now.”

“No,” Alex answered but the look of his face seemed to say the opposite. The man’s thick brows hung low over his eyes, and Dorian could have sworn that the man’s lips were drooping into a pout. “I have to prepare.”

“Prepare?” He did not say that petulantly. He was an Imperial Altus, not a jilted lover. Truly.

Alex, the traitor, just smile serenely in the face of Dorian’s pout. “I promise, Dorian. The wait will be worth it.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Alex’s smile was bright and it stole Dorian’s breath. The mage leaned in and stole one, three more kisses from Alex. Dorian was pushed back gently as Alex asked, “Tomorrow?”

“At the third bell; not a moment later,” Dorian repeated dutifully in a voice laced with dark promise.

With that Alex withdrew fully from the mage. Dorian laughed as he watched Alex walk backwards down the hall as the man seemed unwilling to break their eye contact. The man turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

With a smile, Dorian withdrew into his own quarters, wondering at the evening he had just shared with the man he loved.

 

***

 

Exactly at the third bell, Dorian found himself in front of the Inquisitor’s inner door, fist poised to knock. Alex opened the door at Dorian’s quiet knock. The man leaned against the frame and glanced at Dorian with a pair of questioning eyes.

It took Dorian a moment to parse the reason why they appeared as such. Did Alex think he had slunk up here through the servants’ passages? True, the mage had done so on the majority of the other occasions that had brought him to the man’s rooms, but not this time. Not after last night.

 _That look won’t do,_ Dorian thought. Warmth curled low in the mage’s gut as he thought of what he was about to tell the other. Of how he could turn Alex’s mood around with a few simple but true words.

“I passed one of those Orlesian nobles on the way up. She positively _squealed_ when she saw me pass by. I imagine half the keep knows I’m up in your quarters right now. The rest will undoubtedly know when we leave in the morning,” Dorian said with levity. He leaned in and brushed a kiss over the lines at the corner of Alex’s eye and then another on the man’s top lip in a teasing press.

It worked.

The lines around the other’s blue eyes cleared and a smile worked its way across Alex’s full lips. Alex’s entire posture slumped against the door jamb and he said lowly, “please, come in.”

Alexander turned around and walked back up to the main level while Dorian trailed a few steps behind to take in the man. As they walked up the stairs, Dorian finally noticed what the Inquisitor was wearing.

A soft blouse made of pale grey sea silk and a pair of dark brown druffalo hide breeches, cuffed until the material was tight around muscular calves, had replaced Alex’s typical beige and metal under armor. For once the man was barefoot and his Achilles’ tendons stood out in stark relief with each stair he climbed.

Dorian had never seen the man relaxed enough during the day to wear casual attire instead of the usual underarmor he wore around the keep. Dorian felt overdressed in his halla leather and fustian velvet Enchanter armor and wished he could run back to his own quarters and change, to be as relaxed in appearance as Alex.

Alexander hesitated at the top of the stairs, his hand balanced on the wooden rail before he moved forward, fingers trailing off the end of the banister. With his right hand, Alex reached back for Dorian and the mage willingly went forward to lace their fingers together.

The man paused and Dorian felt glee fill his chest at having surprised the other man. Alex looked down at the band of stone around Dorian’s index finger and an impossibly bright smile lit up his features. Alex raised their joined hands to drop a kiss over the back of Dorian’s palm before he turned to continue on.

“I have your final gift, Dorian,” Alex said, and Dorian caught a flash of blue eyes over the man’s shoulder when he looked back at the mage for a fraction of a second.

“Truly?” Dorian said, excitement sparking in his gut. Even though Alex had said as much the night before, being moments away from receiving the gift changed things.

Alex had mentioned that the final mark of intent would be something made of wood and his mind spun with possibilities. Knowing Alex, the gift could have been anything from a gorgeous box to an entire log cabin somewhere in the wilds. He would not put it past the man to emulate his forefather in that regard.

A gentle tug on his hand brought the mage’s mind back to the matter at hand and he followed eagerly as Alex lead him to the opposite side of the room. It was then that Dorian noticed the room’s new addition tucked against the wall between the closed balcony doors and the door leading to the private bath and upper balcony.

Alongside the Inquisitor’s own weapons rack holding a dozen daggers and short swords was a tall shape covered in a thick white cloth. Roughly cylindrical in shape it was taller than Dorian by a foot and rose in several uneven lumps at the top underneath the cover. Looking at it, Dorian had no idea what it could possibly be.

_A mirror maybe?_

Alex grabbed the thick material with his open right hand, his fingers dancing along the fabric in agitated taps.

“It…” Alex began but was interrupted by an audible gulp. “Well, I hope you understand.”

With that Trevelyan tugged the cloth off, the ends catching on the top for a moment before it fell in a cascade of thick cotton.

It was a staff rack. Dorian blinked in surprise and would have callously said as much if the beauty of the object had not hit him immediately after it registered. Simply calling the piece a ‘staff rack’ would not do justice to the craftsmanship and care obviously put forth into the wooden structure.

It was a tall cylindrical rack— _an uncommon choice,_ Dorian noted—made of three rings of cherry wood held aloft by seven shafts of equally red wood that ended in small clawed feet that kept the rack balanced.

Dorian approached the gift, his hand unconsciously rising to caress the deep red poles as he took in the detail inlaid in the wood. It had Blackwall's hand all over it. From the delicately carved line work running up the poles to the ornate snakes carved around each band of centering wood, their forms winding around the deep cherry wood in sensuous curves. Even the griffon’s talons carved into each stabilizing foot were characteristic of the man’s woodwork. Wide metal hooks plated in gold curved out from the second highest band on the rack, all six evenly spaced in the gaps between poles with small golden cups attached to the base ring to hold the ends of staffs and keep them aloft.

It was only then that he noticed that his staffs were already carefully placed through each hook, their bladed ends balanced in the small cups. His sunburst figured lightning staff, his igneous staff with its white stone, and club headed ice staff, along with another he had not seen before.

It was gorgeous. The figure of a woman ( _Andraste_ , he would wager) was surrounded by a half circle that resembled wings. Both were made of burnished metal and rose from a pitch black staff that ended in a wicked point. Even without touching the staff he could feel the static of electricity radiating from the undoubtedly powerful staff.

Dorian felt his heart jump. Off all the gifts Alex had given him this was by far the most intimate. Not even the ring around his right index finger could compare to the meaning behind the wooden structure.

Dorian’s staffs were an essential part of himself and they embodied the essence of who he was: an Imperial Altus. He could live without extra robes or stacks of books (had in fact done so for months after leaving the Imperium), but he had never been without his staffs. Just the same, he had never stored them anywhere but in a place he claimed as his own. But here, in Alex’s room, was a fixture that belonged solely to Dorian.

Something so mundane by any other’s standards proved to be his undoing. He felt his control over his tears weaken and break and his wet hiccup took both men by surprise. Dorian turned and wrapped his arms around Alexander’s shoulders, burying his face into the man’s neck. “Thank you.”

The mage repeated those words over and over into the man’s shoulder. In response, Alexander drew his own arms low over the mage’s waist and stroked Dorian’s hips with calloused thumbs, humming softly.

Dorian pulled back a scant few inches and raised his hands to cradle Alex’s cheeks between calloused palms. He took in the bright blue eyes and the soft line of Alex’s lips and saw a man utterly at peace with himself.

 _I did that,_ Dorian thought in wonder. He had been worried for so long about the amount of power Alexander wielded over him, but Dorian had never realized that he held just as much power over the other man.

His thumbs stroked under the other’s eyes before he leaned in, capturing the man’s lips in a desperate kiss. Dorian pressed forward and led Alex backwards until the man’s back hit the section of wall between the two racks. Dorian let out a breathless laugh as he pulled back once more and Alex chased after him. Alex took the mage’s lips in a kiss once more, but Dorian pulled back after a few wonderful moments. He had his own gift for the man he loved.

“I love you, amatus,” he said. Each word sent his lips brushing against Alex’s and sent an answering shiver down the man’s spine.  It was the first time Dorian had said those words aloud and he watched and felt as Alex _shattered_ and remade himself, all within Dorian’s arms.

Dorian let out a soothing hum as Alex had moments before in an attempt to sooth his lover. Alex wrapped his arms tightly around Dorian’s waist but even the man’s tight grip could not stifle the limbs’ trembling.

Soft lips pressed against Dorian’s neck and warm air blew over the damp skin. “I love you, too.”

Dorian ran his hand over Alex’s shoulders and back with his left hand, his right tangled in the red locks at the back of Alex’s head. Dorian hummed a soothing melody all while looking at his new gift with reverence.

It wasn't just a rack; it was total acceptance of Dorian’s status as both an Imperial Altus and beloved to the Inquisitor, finally welcomed officially into the most intimate of places. Dorian now had an irrevocable home next to Alex. Right where he belonged.

END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! 50.5k later, [the final gift](http://afkmods.iguanadons.net/index.php?app=downloads&module=display&section=screenshot&record=3594&id=843&full=1%0A) has been given, and Dorian and Trevelyan can only move on from here.
> 
> The first scene is inspired by this amazing headcanon I read on tumblr, but I cannot for the life of me find it. If anyone knows it, please let me know so I can give credit to its creator! 
> 
> This fic was brought to you by delightful Dorian headcanons on tumblr, at least three viewings of Pride and Prejudice, and way too many songs on repeat.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)
> 
> And thanks again trickytyrells for being such an amazing partner and creating a mix that captured the story!


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